You can't rush genius, let alone all this Thanksgiving bullshit. Now, where was I?

Another sleepless night. The temps managed to dip down into the 30's, and ironically, there was no heat on in the house. None. It wasn't out, Ma'dea just didn't turn it on. So I'm laying fully-clothed in the bed under one thin blanket and trying to think warm thoughts. So much for residual heat in the house.

Later that morning, I went to take a hot shower. I'd never used the shower before at her house; when I was a kid, she would only give me baths. Well, not so much a bath as it was sitting in a shallow amount of water. She would only use about a gallon of water and a sponge and baste me in my own filth. Ever since then, I could never fathom taking a bath over a shower. It's a no-brainer. The only problem with Ma'dea's shower is the pressure. It's not so much a shower as it is a pipe sticking out of the wall. The water came out so fast it damn near knocked me on my ass.

"Fuck this, I'm taking a bath."

I went over to Yes Man's bathroom, which is quite possibly the world's smallest john. I mean, you can sit on the toilet and wash your hands. It's that fucking small. And yes, Virginia, there's a gas heater in there.

Around 1:30, I tried to crack the code of unlocking the cable channels. I ran through birthdays and anniversaries before finally figuring it out: 1111. I was flip-flopping from King of the Hill to MadTV in no time. Then, Ma'dea sidles in and says, "You want something to eat? Dinner's ready."

"Dinner? At 1:30?"

"Me and ya granddaddy normally eat this early. Eatin' too late at night give you heartburn and gas. You got to give your food time to digest."

"I'll wait until later, thanks. It's still too early for dinner for me."

"Well you better fix one now; we takin' this food to the church soon as we get finished eating."

So I got up and fixed a plate. Cornbread, roasted turkey, mac and cheese, lima beans, and what appeared to be a slice of sweet potato pie. I wrapped it up and stuck it in the microwave and Ma'dea said, "Don't put that food in the microwave…that's how all that radiation and thangs get in ya food."

"Well why have a microwave if you don't cook in it?"

"Ya mamma bought me that thang, I don't use no technology. I just got it plugged up so I can have me a clock in the kitchen."

I set the plate on the counter and go back to watching television. I gave one of my oldest friends Baby Mama Drama a call since I knew he'd be in town. He suggests we get together later and "drank up a li'l sumpthin". I'm game; anything to numb the boredom from being here would be fine. He said we'd get together around 8:00pm.

At 7:16pm, I decided to sample Ma'dea's wares. As soon as I bit into the sliced turkey, I spit the food up. I sampled the mac and cheese. Equally putrid. As were the cornbread and the lima beans. Ma'dea sidled into the kitchen and asked me if I wanted something to eat for the umpteetnth damned time.

"What did you put in this food? It's bland and tasteless."

"Baby, that's the way God intended us to eat food. Pastor told us we need to cut all the salt and sugar and cholesterol out our diet, so Ma'dea don't cook with that stuff no more."

I looked at her like she had an arm growing out of her forehead.

"I'm almost afraid to know how you concoccted this sweet potato pie."

"Oh, that's not sweet potato."

"But it's orange."

"That's squash. Squash pie."

"…I'm going out for dinner."

"Ain't no place open."

"I'll find somewhere." About an hour later, Baby Mama Drama and I were sitting in Taco Bell.

"Damn, you shole is puttin' them away."

"Shut up and pass me the Fire sauce." And of course, what better goes with pseudo-Mexican food than a nice frosty Corona! Yeah, I brought some in…and? It's Thanksgiving and the country; those people don't care. We walk back to his car, and right as we pull off, this car comes through and starts shooting. Baby Mama Drama swerves off, does a donut, then speeds through the back lot of Taco Bell and drives through some bushes onto a back road.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Man, that's them damn Hatcher boys…'dem niggas tryin' to get me fa' my 'dro."

"Wait a minute…you sell weed?"

"Shiiiiiit…on the side, my nigga."

"So you've got a good job and a little girl, and you're still out here slanging and banging like you don't have someone to come home to at night?"

"Man, a nigga tryin' to survive man…and my baby mama be all up in my business and shit…I'm still tryin' to smash hoes and she gettin' in my way dog…we all can't be Karsh."

"Take me back to my grandmother's house man; I ain't cosign for this shit."

And even as he took me back, he kept stopping off selling weed to folks that walked up to the car. He dropped me off, and I walked in and saw Death-Phoenix, Smokedawg and Karsh Jr.. I pointed at my little brother and said, "What's he doing here?" He was wearing a t-shirt that had "Thuggin' in 'Bama" airbrushed across the front. A huge argument ensued about my "moral responsibilities" to come home and everything. My grandmother scolded me about never coming home. They pissed me off so bad I just said, "You know what, I'm leaving tonight and I'm not coming back unless someone's dead." I packed my bag and called a taxi to the bus station, where I gladly waited until the next bus came and I was on my way back to Atlanta.

I slept all the way to Columbus, where a cadre of PHOINE Army boys hopped on all decked out in uniform. Mmmm…sweet, sweet uniforms. *ahem* Anyway, who else should hop on the bus but the crazy Atlanta Church of Christ woman from a few months back! And she sat right near me and proceeded to talk my ear off.

"Don't you ride MARTA to work every day?"

*groan* "Yes."

Never give them an opening. I put on my earphones and jammed out the rest of the way back home, drowning out her incessant chatter. I came home, unpacked, and just decompressed for the rest of the day. No one called on Saturday or Sunday to see how I was doing (no big surprise there!), and I was met with a flood of e-mails and IMs to document my experiences for the amusement of others.

Funny, you'd think I'd actually get this much attention in real life also.