I don't make New Years resolutions. I just wanted to throw that out there at the beginning, in case you thought reviving the blog was one of them. I didn't make resolutions to NOT make resolutions (which would be counterproductive), of course, I just don't make resolutions because I think they're silly and pointless and why do you have to resolve at the beginning of the year? If you want to change something, why don't you just DO it?
That being said, I had a Facebook poll a couple days ago on whether I should get back into blogging, and eight whole people responded--six in the affirmative, two with smart remarks--so I'm taking that as a good sign. It's late at night, I'm heading into what promises to be a hectic week, and my fingers are cold, which makes it just like old times. A great time for dusting off blogs, if you ask me.
By the way, is it weird to talk about Facebook on your blog?
Anyhoo, so I have a life now. It's weird, I know, and completely out of character, but I'm having fun with it. Even when I'm by myself I manage to keep myself entertained. Last night I went to a pig pickin'/jam session (I guess I could just call it a "pickin'") with my family and our bluegrass friends. I had to drive separately because I didn't get off work until after the thing was supposed to start.
We all know I'm directionally challenged, so Daddy left me a voicemail with the exact address so I could put it in my GPS (which he kindly gave me for Christmas last year, so I could stop using his), and pretty clear driving directions just in case the GPS wasn't good enough (always a possibility).
I followed the GPS out into the country, and the GPS and Daddy's directions matched up, so I wasn't worried. Eventually the little computer voice said, "Arriving at destination, on left." I thought I remembered Daddy saying it was on the right, but I couldn't remember for sure, so I passed it, looking around for anywhere with a bunch of cars. I didn't really see any, so I turned around and double-checked that the little sign I'd passed had the right address on it. It did, so I turned into the driveway.
It was a long driveway, but I knew Daddy had said something about "the first house right on the road, and another one off the road," and "you don't want the first one, you want the second one." So I kept driving. I passed one or two unoccupied-looking or at least unparty-fied-looking, so I kept going until I came to the third one, which had lights on and eight or ten cars parked in the yard, including a big white van. I figured it must be the place, so I pulled up in an empty spot and parked.
As I was getting out, a guy about my age walked by and said, "Hey" as he got something out of the truck next to me. Then he walked back toward the house, and I followed him. We walked up the porch steps, past a smoking pig-cooker, and he held the door open for me to go inside.
There were about five or ten seconds of complete silence as I stared at them and they stared at me. And I stared at them and they stared at me some more. I was pretty sure I had never been to a pig pickin' or a jam session that consisted of about eight college-age guys and three girls. The confusion was clearly mounting on their part and the hilarity of the situation on mine, and I thought I'd better say something before I lost control and broke down laughing in this mystery kitchen.
"So... wrong house?" I said.
"....Think so...." they said.
"Huh. I saw all the cars and a white van like my family's, and I thought this was the right place..." I mused, mostly to myself.
"The Budweiser van?" said a guy who seemed to own the place. Whaddya know, it was a Budweiser van, now that I looked at it.
"Huh," I said again.
It was getting funnier by the second, and the girls started to giggle, which didn't help my composure any. Two more minutes in there and I would have gone into hysterics and not stopped laughing for weeks.
To avoid that embarrassing ending to what was an otherwise chummy meeting, I made my way back to the door.
"Well, I'll see y'all later," I said. "Oh, do you know which house is 3932?" I asked the guy, who had kindly followed me the four feet to the door to see me out.
He poked his head out the door and looked around like he expected it to materialize in the yard. "I ain't got a clue," he finally said. That was obvious to all present by then, but it was nice of him to make an effort.
"Aight, well, thanks!" I said, and I left. Then I called Daddy and asked him where the heck WAS this place and which side of the road did he say it was on? Turns out the number actually went with a different house (no kidding), which was across the street from the place I was supposed to be. I didn't tell him about my adventure. I was still giggling too much to be able to tell it anything like calmly, which was a good call, because when I tried to tell it to Virginia later that night I laughed so hard I actually did go into hysterics, and so did she, and I could barely finish the story.
I guess it would be embarrassing if I thought I'd ever see those people again, but even if I did, I don't think I'd recognize them. I bet they'd recognize me, though, and if they ever do, I hope they won't try to save my feelings. I can only imagine what was going through their heads when I appeared in their kitchen, and I hope they'll mention it, even if the laughing incapacitates me for a month.