Today is Thanksgiving. As so many people do, we will spend the day with family in beautiful Carson City. My family is pretty big. My mom has nine brothers and sisters, all of whom have multiple kids, and many of those now have kids of their own. So this is a big get-together. And a better part of that is that we all know each other pretty well. Every year most of the family makes it to Carson, and we have the enitre weekend to catch up. Of course, part of catching up is listening to some of my cousins tell you things that either make you laugh at them, or laugh later when you discuss on the way home.
For instance, Christy always gets cornered by my cousin who is a few years younger than us and works in a hospital emergency room. He also lives in Chico and may or may not be attending Chico State and hangs out with some guys from a fraternity there. Every time we see this guy, he gets piss drunk and starts talking about how many chicks he pulls because he A) works in an ER, B) lives in Chico, where girls are just begging to have sex with you, and C) hangs with frat dudes. I know a little something about hanging with frat dudes, and believe me, that doesn’t automatically land you chicks. But maybe he’s just a bit more charismatic than me. Or maybe its the thrill of a guy who works in a hospital.
This year we plan on getting a great story. I have this cousin. Seriously. I do. He moved to Canada a while ago, and lives on Cortez Island in B.C. Better still, he’s a mushroom farmer. Mushrooms. Last time we saw him he explained to Christy that he can’t believe how Americans can eat such horrible mushrooms. We have no standards. Additionally, he was learning to be a blacksmith. No word on how that’s going.
The other day, another cousin called to talk about the mushroom farmer. “Did you hear the news?” “No.” “He got married!” “What?” the dude didn’t even have a girlfriend, as far as I knew. Hell, are there even girls on Cortez Island? I didn’t think so. But, according to the story, there was at least a great reason for the marriage. Apparently, they had been dating for a few months. They live in the barn behind the farm house, the mushroom farm house. The owner of the farm, her ex-husband, lives in the house. All that is cool. But the reason for the marriage being so quick is that my cousin, a 32 year-old man, felt it was necessary to begin the process of becoming a Canadian citizen before Bush was reelected. Why, you ask? Because he didn’t want to get drafted! Now, I know that our standards are low here in the states regarding mushrooms, but maybe if he lowered his a bit, the paranoia from all those “good” ones would go away, and he would begin living in the reality that says there will be no draft, and better still, they will not be drafting any 32 year-olds. Maybe.
Or maybe Christy is lying about all those stories.