My Husband Says They Moved The Etowah Indian Mounds

Just a few notes on Husbands and Family:

THE HUSBAND

If you know my husband, you know he's a true character. I'm discovering things about him that make me laugh - either with irritation or because it's so off the wall.

First, any man that doesn't know who Howie Long is - you are not a homosexual. Your man-card has been stamped for the year, and you won't have to redeem your card for another 12 months. Z asked me who Howie Long was and who he played for today while we were watching the Falcons-Panthers game, and I went on and on for about 30 minutes about how the only reason women watch football is because of the birth of Howie Long. Rowwwrrrr.

SECOND.

My husband has all of these weird paranoia beliefs. He knows they aren't real, but he still feels the need to repeat them almost daily. I'll only tell one right now, because the second I would like to put into a story format for a blog post.

THEY DID NOT MOVE THE F&CKING ETOWAH INDIAN MOUNDS.

They have these Etowah Indian Mounds near my house, and they've been around for about a billion years or something. The Indians put the dead people in the mounds, and used dumptrucks to cover up the bodies. After a couple million years, you have something like 80,000 dead people in one big volcano shaped mound. Oh, and I think there are four of them or something.

Anyway, Z says that when the Federal Government came in and built Interstate 75 through Cartersville, they had to move the Indian Mounds. He claims some old timer on the square told him so. Now he refuses to go there. And when anyone mentions the Indian mounds, he says, "You know they moved the indian mounds, right?".

Now he knows this isn't true, but sometimes I'm absolutely astounded at the balls this man is carrying. He doesn't mind talking about the movement of the indian mounds to cartersville natives...and you should see the look they give him. It's halfway between "This is one of those gun-slinging psychotic texans running around loose with geronimo bumper stickers on the back of his pickup" and "this sumbitch lives under the Church St. bridge and composes letters all day long to Darryl Hannah" or even "let's string him up, boys, we've got ourselves a yankee!". I love my husband. I can't possibly imagine finding another man quite as strange as he is. I think I needed that, by the way. I get bored with men fairly easily. It's these complexities that truly make people bearable.






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