The Opposite of Sexy, Weekend Edition

Happy Monday, readers. I trust that many or most of you spent the weekend either tied to your bed or tying someone to your bed, whichever you most like. Both, perhaps. I spent much of the weekend wishing that I didn't have to get out of bed, even though I was there all by myself.

This weekend was the annual family reunion for the descendants of my great grandfather. My paternal ancestors are mainly Mennonite with some Amish highlights, and that means that my extended family is a) legion, b) difficult to take without the benefit of alcohol, and c) teetotal. I'm sure that on some level they're lovely people, but it is a bit trying to spend an entire weekend with that portion of the population that is convinced that Obama is a radical Islamist. It is bootless to argue with these people: if you maintain that the Senator is, indeed, a Christian, they will tell you that he's still black, as if that were the dispositive factor in deciding how to cast one's vote. Which for them, I suppose, it is.

Only a very few of these people know that I'm gay, of course. I suppose that telling them would make me unwelcome at future reunions, but as attractive as that prospect is, my parents would be very upset. Besides, I'm pretty sure that they'd insist on performing an exorcism, or at least laying hands on me and praying, and, really, they're just not so attractive that I want their hands anywhere near me.

Anyway, my sister was there with her brood, and it's always good to see them, though, for the life of me, I don't know what she was thinking when she decided to have three sons. She looks nothing like Fred MacMurray. It's hard to say what the boys look like: they never stop moving.

On the plus side, Western Maryland and Southwestern Pennsylvania are gorgeous, and I'm moving ever closer to deciding to buy my folks' house up there from them. They would like to keep it in the family, and they'll give me a deal because they'd probably have to dump in $20K to get $40K more on the sale, and, more importantly, because if I buy it, I have to take all the stuff inside the house and garage with it. It would be a good place to retire to. There are nice fruit trees and a beautiful view, and I could have a dog and a hen house.

Anyway, it would be wrong to say that sex was the furthest thing from my mind this weekend: it's never all that far from my mind. But the possibilities for actual man-on-man action were nonexistent, and being stuffed full of such large quantities of God and family (and Jell-O-based desserts) makes me feel entirely unsexy. I am slowly recuperating, aided in part by pictures such as the ones that appear here, as well as the ones under them. Enjoy.