So Dad and I went on that all important yet oh so boring trip to Baltimore this weekend. We had a fine time of struggling to stay awake during the visits to the other side of the family and enduring the family dinners. I love my grandmother dearly (and no, this isn't the one whose head is "on vacation") but these people are more redneck than anything I encounter (on purpose) in Alabama.

One of the more interesting ventures (another word for an outing which my dad and I had to keep from laughing) was getting to see a second cousin's fixer-upper. Wouldn't you be amazed at what could be done with pink and green tile in a bathroom? And how about that mismatched furniture in the living room (wait.. make that all the rooms). Now I am no interior decorating giant. In fact, the line between my furniture and furniture that was donated by my other grandmother you can't help but fall flat on your face stumbling over it - but I also don't go around show boating my house to those who would notice. The people I have over just care about the fridge being stocked with beer and that the bathrooms have toilet paper (it doesn't even have to be on the holder).

And then there was the dinner that we had to sit through. This wasn't as bad as last time but it came awfully close to the same "Let me tell you about my sickening ailment...." theme that colored the last dinner we all had. (Dad was asked how Mom's foot was doing and he foolishly almost fell into their trap). However, we were treated to a fabulous discussion concerning weather and what it was like in the past (ice was apparently much colder in 1952 than now- go figure). If only I could have taken a snooze - but then I would have probably had to make an excuse about why I was tired (and why I would prefer taking a nap on my steak rather than eating it)- which might involve a sickness and thus be snared by the illness conversation.

The best part was trying to get my second cousin Keith in on the conversation. Keith is either really really really deaf or enjoys when people try to talk to him using a series of hand gestures and the occasional sock puppet. Deaf or not, his input on anything remains the same - not worth mentioning.

Anyway, the really cool parts of these trips are the fact that I finished a 600 page novel I had started on the plane that weekend and I get to talk with my dad on the really important issues on life when we have the long car trip to the Nashville airport ahead of us like - Is there anymore ice cream left in the house and why the show "Big Brother" sucks so much but still people watch it.

More on those father-daugther discussions later.