Oh, Vacation-y Goodness...

I just returned from a week away with some family members, visiting the SuperBabies and generally having a good time. Not as good of a time as our neighbors at the condo had, though, because they are the ones who left a pile of vomit on our stairs one night. I almost slipped in it the following morning and felt like leaving a strongly worded letter on their doorstep, but decided against it.

The week flew by in a haze of cigarette smoke, empty beer bottles, and heat so thick you could have sailed a ship three feet off the floor of our building. No joke, it was so hot in our room that it was STEAMY, and the windows were frozen shut. I'm typically the coldest person in the free world, and at one point I was bemoaning the fact that I hadn't brought shorts while sweat soaked my entire body. (Ok, so I didn't bring shorts. I was vacationing in ONTARIO in JANUARY. Call me crazy, but before I left, I didn't really think that tropical weather attire would be necessary.)

I also managed to do something that I don't typically do: I immersed my body in a pool of water. I hate swimming and being in water in general, but this week my twin niece and nephew were there and I just couldn't pass up splashing around the pool with them. So twice I overcame my distaste of being wet and cold and actually went swimming. Well, I went doggy-paddling, which is sort of the same thing.

Overall I have to say that I feel like a new person, having been away from work for seven straight days for the first time in two years. I took a week off last June, but that was to work at The Berry Farm, so even those vacation days weren't very vacation-y. (Unless you count sixteen hour days supervising snotty twelve year olds picking fruit as a vacation. Personally, I don't think that counts.)

And now here I am, back to the grind and getting ready to face the workforce once more. Sigh.

So Proud of Me....

I had an experience tonight that I have never had before this day.

I went to a nightclub.

Wait, that's a lie. I have gone to nightclubs before. There was a huge difference between this time and every other time, however, and I wish to share it with you now.

This time, I was in a nightclub and I was not completely fricken' hammered.

That's right.

In a state of complete and total sobriety, I walked into a club and then proceeded to make my way to the dance floor.

The first time another person, a member of a party I did not walk in with, entered my personal space? I will not lie.

I hid behind my dearest best friends, T and Mal. The person who had entered my personal space then looked at me as though I was deranged and stalked haughtily away. I live for the day that I find myself in a position that I may stalk haughtily away.

Anyhow.

It was an entirely new experience for me, one that I am glad I have had. I got to experience the drama of the bar scene. I witnessed two near fights between people who were clearly ridiculously hammered. I witnessed complete strangers making out with each other with such fervor that certainly the ceilings should have collapsed. I saw drunk people engaging in dance moves that should not be attempted by anyone other than trained professionals. I cabbed home -- to Mal's home, that is-- and had actual coherent conversation with the cab driver on the way there.

There were times in the past when I thought that it was simply impossible to enter a place of such loud music, of so many people, of so many sights and sounds and sensations without the effects of sincere inebriation.

And now I know that those thoughts were simply misguided.

I only needed to try it once, and many years later, to realize that it was entirely possible all these years.

Who would have thought?

Halloween Woes....

I'm mourning the loss of a really, really good costume idea tonight.

Mal, the infamous, wonderful Mal, has invited me to a Halloween party with her. The last time I partook in something like this was 2005. No, really. 2005. In 2006 I had completely lost my mind and my brother had left for Afghanistan, and last year I had the crap kicked out of me the night before Halloween. So this year?

Totally Halloweening it up. Like it's my job.

I wanted to go as a sexy cowgirl. (Mal and I have noticed that, as you age, Halloween becomes less about being something and more about being a sexy something. We briefly discussed going simply as Sexy ["What are you being this year?" "Sexy." "Sexy what?" "Just Sexy."] but we nixxed that idea in fear of being mistaken for actual hookers.)

So today, I searched high and low throughout the Big City for cowboy boots, which I've sort of wanted for a few years anyways. I thought if I could find some in the neighborhood of a hundred dollars, I would suck it up and buy them. Cowboy boots are a lifetime investment, after all.

Many of them cost near FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS. Some were in the three hundred dollar range, and the rest were well over a hundred and fifty.

After I picked myself up off the floor, I looked at some second hand stores and came out empty handed.

New plan?

I'm going as Jill Henselwood.

Ok, I get that none of my costume ideas are necessarily inventive, but I'm not really an inventive person and I don't feel that I should be judged as a result of it. Regardless, I'm going to a social function on a social day of the year!

The Beer Fairy...

Today is Saturday, the Saturday of the Snow, the day that will forever be ingrained in my head as the day that so much snow fell, I breifly contemplated ending my life.

We were anticipating this snow day, and as a result my mother and I went shopping yesterday to stock up on supplies. We got Taco mix, cheesy popcorn, cases of pop, and pizza pockets. If we ever have another Eastern Seaboard power outage, we'll be totally fucked, because really, how can you heat up pizza pockets without a microwave?

Of course, I was in a rush yesterday because I was called in to work early, and this means WE FORGOT TO PICK UP THE BEER. We pulled back into the driveway and for a moment, I thought that my head was going to roll right off my shoulders and wedge itself under the tires of my mother's car.

I came home from work last night to discover that the Beer Fairy had paid a visit, and a full case of Canada's finest discount lager was in our cold storage room. Turns out my Dad is the beer fairy, and while I'd love to talk about how he loves me so much he can't bear to see me without my favorite beverage in tow, the reality of the situation is that he KNOWS me so damn well. He just KNOWS that I would run out of my own beer and happily help myself to his beer, and then he would be out of beer AND I would be out of beer, and really? No one wants to be snowed in WITHOUT ANY DAMN BEER.

And so now here we are, snowed in and getting fatter by the second. I've eaten half a bag of cheesy popcorn, so much taco-y goodness that my stomach nearly exploded, enough Coca-Cola Zero that my hands are shaking from the caffeine, and now its after five!

And after five is the time that normal, healthy people start drinking!

But first I need a nap. Lord knows I need to work up some energy before I have to twist off all those pesky bottle caps.

A Day for Coffee and Beer....

Today I got to spend the day with two of the kids from work, and they were so wonderfully behaved that I allowed them to come back to the farm to pet the horses. Zydo was a perfect gentleman, and didn't bite either one of their arms off, for which I am ever grateful. After that, I went back to the house and played my guitar while they played a modified game of baseball in the basement. All in all, it was a wonderful shift, one of those shifts that makes you want to keep your job rather than move into a cardboard box on the street and take your chances with the local bums.

While I was out and about today, I had a mad craving for a cup of coffee. I went to the Tim Horton's nearest to where I was, and because I AM PENNILESS, I was using the Tim's card that I receieved for Christmas. BUT THE TIMS CARD MACHINE WAS BROKEN.

I briefly contemplated ending my life, right there in Tim Horton's in front of all those innocent people, and I smiled at the lady behind the counter and told her that I understand, I'm a farmer and when you depend on machines for stuff, THEY BREAK AND FUCK YOUR SHIT UP.

And then, this elderly gentleman beside me said "Oh, you know, I knew those machines would ruin someone's day. I'll buy you a cup of coffee." And I was all flustered and horrified, because only homeless opiate addicts beg cups of coffee from random strangers. And I assure you, I am addicted to NOTHING (Excepting cigarettes and coffee and oversized sweatshirts washed with Gain) and I live with my PARENTS. Therefore, not homeless, not addicted to opiates. Read: I should not be begging cups of coffee from strangers.

Just then, the manager came out and the gentleman explained that he was buying my coffee because of the mix-up with the Tim's Card machines, and I was all like "No, I really don't need a coffee that badly, really, you're too kind..." And the gentleman said "Of course I'm buying you a coffee. It can be your Valentine's day present." And I was all like, "Oh, that's the only one I'm going to get today!"

BUT THEN, the manager was all like, No, I'M buying her a cup of coffee, dammit! And then the two proceeded to argue over who got to buy me a coffee, and the woman made me my triple triple, and I made a hasty exit with many thanks, and the twelve year old I work with was like "HEY! THAT GUY WAS HITTING ON YOU AND HE'S LIKE EIGHTY!!!" for all the world to hear.

And then? My shift ended and it was time to go home and I got home and not only was the Precious Boy here, but my mother had purchased me a case of Valentine's Beer!

And now my day is complete, and I know that random strangers still do have good in their hearts, and that my mother loves me most when I'm slightly inebriated.

Because that's when its easiest to get me to clean the kitchen.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Happy Five Hundredth Post, Blog!

Five hundred entries on this blog later, and here we are.
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Life has been throwing some punches at me lately which is why I haven't exactly been profficient with the blogging. Oh, sure, part of it is due to the fact that I can't get off my lazy butt long enough to type out a word here or there... But other parts have to do with the rest of my life.
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I fully intended to post something long and interesting today, for example, but because my bedroom resembles a landfill after a natural disaster, I spent a large portion of my day gazing at it wistfully. After that, I enlisted the help of my mother to deal with the hideousness that is the filth that I live in.

It was a little bit fun, though, after my mother reamed me out for creating a fire hazard in her house. Once that was over, it was kind of like playing a harmless game of '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall', except that the beer bottles were strewn about the floor, intermingled with dirty blue jeans and no less than sixty five pairs of socks. Because I love socks.
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Some nights I come home with the intention of posting, but instead I sit on the couch watching television reruns that my mother and I have purchased on DVD. My sister in law gave me the first to seasons of Road to Avonlea, a show I loved as a six and seven year old child, for Christmas. And it was funny, when I opened it, I was thrilled, and the first thought that entered my head was that these seasons would get me through my latest breakup. I automatically knew that I would rely on them to get me through this tough time.

Unfortunately, they didn't work completely, and we've had to turn to the Eighth season of ER. I'm hoping that by the time the sixth disc is completed, I'll be back to my chipper self.

If nothing else, Dixie makes a wonderfully cuddly companion to sit on the couch with, and she is always willing to lick the orange stuff that Cheezies leave behind off my fingers. If that's not true love, then I don't know what is.
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SuperDad has been having some health concerns of late as well. Its odd, but the man has never had a problem until now. He landed himself in the emergency room twice and was told not to drink a single drop of alcohol until the problem was fixed. And you know what that means? Yep, I got a free case of beer out of the deal.

The problem he's dealing with now has to do with his pancreas, and we're awaiting a consultation with a surgeon and a battery of tests until we know exactly what the problem is. The good news is that this is not the same surgeon that my mother had for her last bout of medical issues, which means that I'm not going to have to don another bellaclava to do any more gas tank sugaring. Praise God.
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College is making me want to stab myself in the eye with a pitch fork. Everything about the classes I'm taking make me want to SCREAM, loud and long, until I have no oxygen left in my body, so that I simply crumple to the floor and lay in an unconscious stupor until the school day ends. I already have a frickin degree in most of the stuff I'm taking, and the process of getting exempt from courses is long and arduous, so I'm just going through them as best I can.

If only I didn't have such an aversion to paperwork, my life would be that much easier. As it stands now, I DO have an aversion to writing my name on pieces of paper beside course codes and handing them to official-looking people in the office. So I suppose the only thing I have to be angry at is myself. Sigh.

Other than that, life is grand, as usual.

Just When You Think You're Making Progress...

Typically when I start dating someone, when I go out a few times and feel like I might start to like someone, I try to keep it to myself. Joomy might not believe me, but I really do tell very few people. There are several reasons for this: One, when my feet find themselves back on the ground again, the breakup is easier to deal with if you don't have to tell anyone.

Ok, I said several reasons, but that's the only one I can think of.

This most recent individual is a coworker as well, and we work in a field where we are quite literally shoulder to shoulder for most of our shifts. I suppose the main reason I didn't want anyone to know about it is that. I like to keep my home life entirely separate from my work life, and if people were to find out that I was seeing this individual, it wouldn't be separate any more.

I chose today, in the way I often do, to inform this most recent individual that I couldn't spend time with him any more, that he shouldn't write or call or send pictures or stand beneath my bedroom window singing love songs because I simply can't cope with this relationship at this point in time.

And now we have to deal with the fallout, which was why I thought this was such a bad idea in the first place.

I just didn't think the fallout would come so soon, that after a single day I'd no longer have someone to talk about nothing with and that once more, I'd feel like ice picks are being plunged again and again into the depths of my being.

I think that one of the most discomfitting things about this whole situation is that tonight, when SuperNan was making EggNog, she came to me and asked, "Do you have any booze? Some scotch or whiskey? Or anything?"

And I was all like "For Fuck's SAKE, I do NOT HAVE any booze, not a beer or a drop of tequila or even any FUCKING COOKING SHERRY."

And you know, since I moved back home, I've made a concerted effort to tone down the drinking, to not stockpile alcohol and act like someone who can't live without it. But I'm really starting to think, would it BE SO BAD to be one of those people who keeps a mickey stored in the back of the toilet? WOULD IT BE SUCH A CRIME???

The Latest Addiction...

You may or may not know, but I work in a rather challenging field.

For this job, I have to be in incredibly good spirits before I walk in the door. I can't be cranky, I can't have a headache. I can't be overtired, I can't be irritable. I simply can not. Dealing with a house full of teenage boys DEMANDS good humor.

I've never been a particularly big fan of coffee. Sure, I used to have a cup now and then, and by now and then, I mean every few months. If I go to a coffee shop, I tend to get an iced coffee beverage rather than a real cup of coffee.

I discovered coffee one day while I was desperately searching for a beverage. I'm not sure if it is the wierd lumpy neck disease I'm suffering from, or if I'm just the thirstiest person on the planet, but lately I've desperately needed a drink everywhere I go.

So, I had a cup of coffee while I was taking a break one night, a particularly tired night, and OH MY DEAR SWEET HEAVENLY LORD.

I was awake. I was perked up. I was suddenly overcome with just a touch of energy, such that I could make it through the shift.

Since that night, several weeks ago, I have become a coffee fiend. I drink instant, I drink the fancy stuff from Tim Horton's. I prefer a well-brewed cup from the gas station that is on the way to work. I take it sweet, laden with 18% cream, and only mildly hot.

But regardless of what it is, if it resembles coffee, I WANT IT IN MY HAND. And I want it now.

And really, once I have it? Once it is in my happy hand, on its sweet and creamy way to my mouth and happily flowing down my throat?

I become a pleasant, happy, sane, and rational person to be with.

And my word, it is grand.

Off to see the wizard...

Me: Oh, Dude, did I wake you?

Mal: Yeah.

Me: My bad. But look, I'm coming on Friday.

Mal: Sweet. Bring beer.

Me: I'm taking the train.

Mal: So? Bring the beer on the train.

Me: Dude. You've got to be kidding. You want me to be seen lugging a 2-4 onto a train?

Mal: Oh, ye who falls over with a backpack of forty pounds on her back, scrambling around on the train station floor to pick up the cigarettes that fell out of the baggy she kept them in.

Me: So?

Mal: YOU COULDN'T GET UP.

Me: Well, you went and demanded beer from the girl and came back with banana bread!

Mal: Well, you stumbled onto the train with an empty Jack Daniel's bottle and decided to whip open your laptop only TO PASS OUT in front of it so EVERY PASSENGER was watching with glee to see if it would fall off your lap!

Me: It STAYED THERE for FOUR hours! Those sober people were AMAZED.

Mal: Look, are you bringing beer?

Me: No way, man. I'm taking a train for eight hours to come see your sorry ass. You can damn well drive me to the liquor store.

Mal: Sweet. But that means you have to come to stripper-cise class with me.

Me: You want me to wha-?

Mal: Nighty-Night!

*Click.

Exeunt

Berries... Oh, God, the Berries...

This is now officially the longest berry season I have ever partaken in. The tenth of July marks day twenty-three, and usually we are done by day seventeen or eighteen.

This means that we have either gotten so damn good at producing and managing fruit that we deserve medals, or that we should just close the damn farm down because WHO THE HELL SPENDS TWENTY THREE DAYS DEALING WITH FRUIT?

I've been pining for my horse lately, a fact that is slightly sad and I think sort of nice. I'm so thrilled to have a horse who I just can't wait to get back to. At the same time, I'm wondering what it says about me as a person that I could care less about finding a real job, getting my car back on the road, and re-uniting with my endlessly cranky cat.

We are still waiting on a farrier to come and fix up his shoes, and because he has been shoe-less, my dad hasn't ridden him since I've been gone, either. I am such a twit because I've been sitting in the Berry Cave at break time bemoaning the fact that my poor boy is without a shoe like a penniless mother upset over her barefooted children.

At any rate, there is nothing to complain about at this point in time except, perhaps, the fact that the Berry Queen has been helping herself to my Molson Canadian. I have to stop and ask, here, does it not seem a bit inappropriate for an American Citizen to be guzzling down beer with a label that clearly says CANADIAN on it?

I think is does FOR SURE.

Do you hear that?

"Hear what?"

"That!"

"The whole lot of nothing?"

"Yes. The house. It's quiet."

"How... Odd."

"That's what I was thinking."

"Well, change is good. This could be a good thing. Empty house. Quiet house. American houseguests gone back to the land of the free."

"Yes. But now who's going to bring us coffees in the morning?!"

"Oh, Shit. I forgot about that."

"Have you thought about the beer?? Have you thought about who's going to go get us beer when we're too tired to drive?"

"Dammit --"

"WHAT ABOUT THE DRUGS?! HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT WHO IS GOING TO WRITE US PRESCRIPTIONS FOR OUR AILMENTS NOW THAT OUR DOCTORS ARE GONE?!?"

*Sob*

"What will we do?!"

"We will stand. We will breathe. We will put ourselves into a motorized vehicle. We will drive that vehicle to Chapters, where we will purchase an entire season's income's worth of crappy novels. Then we will go to the liquor store. SCREW THIS CANADIAN IDEA OF SOFTY-ASSED BEER. We will buy vodka."

*Nod*

"We will carry on the only way we know how."

What a weekend!

Well, Dear Blog, I've been neglecting you as promised and I have to say that this weekend was one of the best I've had in... ages?

It started out on Friday with a dance-a-thon with my favorite Monkeys, during which time AN INDIVIDUAL WHO I WILL NOT CALL NAMES ON MY BLOG stole my hot astronaut. That's right. I had a hot astronaut in my vicinity, and he got stolen away.

But really, I have to say it was a wondrous time. I almost deafened Joomy with some hardcore shrieking and really, after all these years? She was surprised to find me shrieking under the influence of beers? Please.

I danced with Nora while at the club. The problem here is that she can actually dance and she doesn't even drink anything before she gets out on the dance floor. I can only do the country bop, which is incredibly uncool in the city, but my propensity for kicking people who make fun of my dancing in the shins usually deals with that quite nicely.

The guy who brought me the hot astronaut felt bad for not making said hot astronaut a little more aware of the circumstances (Those being that he was brought FOR ME AND ONLY ME AND DEAR GOD WHY IS THAT SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND?) and since his girlfriend is away at college, he agreed to make out with me for the evening. He was a little terrified, I think, when I suggested that we make out to make up for his lack of forethought in the astronaut department, and that should explain the look of horror on his face.

Fortunately, my sights were soon turned to the business of drinking more beer, and I decided to forgo the thought of attracting any more men that night. Much to the relief of my mother, because I don't think she could handle the thought of me moving back under her roof and getting hives once more from the interesting characters I always end up bringing home.

At any rate, I must truly thank all my friends for coming out and making my last clubbing night with them in the city a great time.

Toonses

I don't think saying WOW would do it...

Tonight I went on stage for perhaps the last time in the Big City. I can't say how much tonight meant to me, and Mom? I'm sorry for blogging under the influence of several beers.

First, I got to hang out with and catch up with a pair of brothers who I haven't seen since I was about thirteen years old. Shout out to you boys, because who in their right mind would want to be seen near me after knowing me through my years of Jewel loving teenage angst?

Mal helped me get ready and I went to the bar in jeans (That I picked out and bouth MYSELF) and a tank top (That I picked out and bought MYSELF) and of course, my trusty fedora and my business jacket. I looked fuckin' hot.

EVERYONE who I invited showed up, and it was so great to see so many familiar faces in the audience. A few people couldn't make it because of exams and so forth, and if that person is you? I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND because no matter how hot I looked, even I wouldn't miss out on studying time to see my hot self perform.

I started out with Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash (Because I've fallen in love with him after downloading a shitload of his songs in their original form) and then I did House of The Risin' Sun.

And I promptly forgot the lyrics in the third verse.

I'm not sure how this sort of thing happens. Really. Why must the brain malfunction as it does? I think I have sang this song perhaps EVERY SINGLE DAY since I first picked up a guitar. And yet, standing on stage tonight? I forgot EVERY POSSIBLE LYRIC YOU COULD FORGET.

What is wrong with me?

At any rate, I made the BEST POSSIBLE RECOVERY YOU COULD MAKE. I have always admired and strived to be the entertainer my Oldest Brother is. He can walk onto a stage, have presence, make people laugh, and fuck up every single song he attempts, and yet still? People buy him free beers. Bastards.

Tonight, I made one of THOSE recoveries. I just started talking nonchallantly as I continued strumming in my 3/4 time (and yes, Mom, you could have set a tic-toc to it!) I just talked into the mic like it was my job, lamenting the fact that I had forgotten the lyrics, and MAN, does it suck to do that on stage in front of a bunch of people....

Then I did two originals that I ROCKED, and there was so much clapping and cheering and so forth. The sound guy mentioned my TOTALLY WICKED AWESOME guitar, but he didn't give it more introduction time than he did me, thank goodness.

And then? I got encored. And it was the best feeling ever. And so many people were screaming "Amanda! You're so awesome, we love you! Another Song, Another Song!" that the sound guy came up and told me to go ahead and do another one.

So I did a more upbeat song that I sing really well, ano original, and all night? I just felt like such a rockstar. I know that being on stage in front of twenty of your nearest and dearest doesn't quite equate to being the next Willie Nelson or the next Metallica....

But my God, did I feel like it tonight.

Thank you so much to those who made it out. This was perhaps the best night I've had in the Big City yet.

Amanda

Another one bites the dust....

I.

Just.

Finished.

My.

Last.

University.

Essay.

Ever.

Somebody get this girl a beer, Dammit!

AAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!

Last one ever, Boys.

I'm walking on sunshine.

Toonses

How to have a sucessful Weekend Away...

First, you have to greet the day in your Ottawa Senators Jammies by blowing big, hearty kisses at your Auntie, who insists upon spending the whole weekend following you around with her camera. And really, Princess, I am sorry that I barged in on you and Mommy and Daddy whileyou were having quiet family time in bed, but I totally think that the shots I got of you cuddling up between them are too priceless to have missed out on.

Then, you haul out a bottle of Denmark's finest Akvavit and get ready to eat some scary Danish

Delicacies in the company of all your favorite people. At any rate, once the bottle is opened, a grand time is sure to be had by all who partake. It's Danish Potato Liquor, after all, and who wouldn't have a grand time ingesting that?

Then, you pose beside your mother with a look on your face that says "What? Me? Drinking all the Akvavit? Nevah!" This is possibly the first photo my mother and I have seen where we resemble each other. As SuperNan likes to say "Well, I thought you always looked like his side of the family." (With an accusatory finger pointed at SuperDad, of course).

Before The Princess is torn out of your arms by her mother, who is now desperately fleeing the crazy Auntie --WHO WILL NOT STOP TAKING PICTURES MY GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER --you capture one last precious photo of her giving you a perfunctory handshake. Can you imagine that one day, she might inherit my family's gene for having abnormally oversized manhands? But for right now, she just has pudgy little digits that you could eat right up without even dipping in sauce first?

And then, you have to be gazed at mournfully by a beagle who will do anything -- except learn a

cool trick like how to roll over -- to just keep her place on the couch she's been banned from. And when this beagle-y little face looks up at you from the cushions, how could you bear to tear her away? I mean, really, look at those eyes. My little Muppy, who I love!

Of course, once you've run out of other subjects to photograph, anywhere a six year old boy exists, you'll find a subject. Typically, subjects that come in the form of six year old boys are more than willing to make a funny face for the camera, but only if you let them giggle incessantly while they observe their wit and charm on the screen immediately thereafter.

And then, once you're done menacing everyone you can think of with your camera, you return to the city after a successful day of bra shopping to sit down for eight consecutive hours to write an essay.

And that, Dear Internet, is how you have a successful weekend away.

Toonses

And then there was a case of beer, some akvavit....

And a very successful Danish New Year's.

This year Big Brother was in Afghanistan at new year's, so we postponed our annual celebration until now so that we could all be together. It was, as usual, a wild success although we did get yelled at for finishing off a case of my Dad's beer in a single evening. Apparently when your kids are little, they suck the life out of you through being energetic whiny brats. Then when they get older, they suck the funds out of you by stealing all your beer and cigarettes.

It's hard to be a parent these days.

I said good bye to the Precious Boy this morning, before I went to take my perfuntory hangover nap. I told him that I wouldn't see him for one full month, but you know what happens in one month?

Auntie comes back to The Ranch!

He seemed to think that this was a good idea, but asked if perhaps I could go and live in my brother's house with him and my brother. I gave him a flat refusal at that. If I stay here with my parents, there are far more cool things to mooch than at my brother's. Like my Dad's beer.

We've made some plans for the summer so far: A garden, to the chagrin of my father, who detests my manner of gardening and the fact that I lazily toss some seeds around and come back in two months. He is one of these wacky people who thinks that a garden needs tending. I'm the type to sputter, Why, What is this 'tending' you speak of?

And then my Dad's face turns all red and that vein in his forehead starts to stick out and pulsate, and he has to go and tend to the garden before the vein explodes all over my mother's clean kitchen.

I also got a hold of the poultry catalogue. So, of course, I had to start daydreaming about the barn and all the stuff I'm going to put in it.

But then reality sinks in and I realize that I have so many plans for this summer: Berry Season; going to a faraway city to visit a certain individual who has blue eyes and does things like splurge for the pizza WITH CHICKEN ON IT; going to Mal's family's house; going back and forth to the Big City to visit friends; possibly even find a job.

And the sad fact is that thus far, my life is simply too disorganized to bring livestock into.

Hopefully I can have the barn worked up this summer, fixed and built (I get to custom build my own barn! How cool is that?) and next spring possibly bring some animals into it.

Sometimes I think about it and it seems so far away to wait one more year, but looking back, I suppose I've waited this long. What's a few more months?

After I've placated myself with that, though, I tend to think that a few more months might just kill me. Decisions, Decisions.

Toonses

I've been gone for a month, I've been drunk since I left....

I am proud to report back from the wedding we went to in Cambridge with this: I did not find myself nearly as intoxicated as the Maid of Honor, who at one point ended up doing a face plant behind the head table and then proceeding to vomit profusely upon the groomsmen, who were kind enough to carry her puking ass away from the public eye.

I have nothing but good things to say about toonie bars, which are now one of my most favorite things: I'm thinking of getting married once a month from now until liver failure hits simply so I can celebrate the wonders of toonie bars.

One of my (And everybody's, I think) favorite bar songs came on while we were at the wedding and while I was singing along I thought to myself, Wow. I have been doing random things for the last month, and I think I've been partially, or wildly, intoxicated since Spring Break. The good news is that Mal and I have officially become immune to the effects of sleep deprivation and alcohol, and so we trundle on.

We should be back home on Tuesday. I'd love to call my mother and have a chat, rather than having her read terrifying things about my behavior on the internet, but it seems that every time I call, someone is tying up the phone. Sigh.

Toonses

Drunken training.....

"Dude, what's that smell?"

"Huh? Pass me the Jack."

"No, Dude, there is totally a bad smell coming from this train. The Jack is gone."

"You drank all the Jack?!"

"I've no idea if I drank it all. I think you drank it all. You can't smell that smell?"

"We need pizza."

"Were in comfort class. They don't have pizza in comfort class."

"Next time we do this, we go first class or go home. I can't believe these people don't have pizza."

"The odor is driving me insane. When we stop in Toronto, let's grab a pitcher for lunch."

"Oh, God, a pitcher. Dude. That sounds so, so sweet."

"I can't believe you haven't noticed that smell yet. It's like a hideous mixture of ass, unwashed feet, stale cigarettes...."

"And day old Jack and diet no-name cola!"

"Dude...."

"That smell is totally us."

Poor decision making 101...

Andy, are you goofin' on Elvis.. Hey Baby... Are we havin' fun....

Step one in poor decision making: Go to Mal's with a case of beer. Discuss the thing that you did four years ago that makes you a terrible person.

Step two in poor decision making: Come home with the rest of your case of beer. Wake up your roommate on your way in. Sit in front of your laptop.

Step three in poor decision making: Reach into the case for one more, planning on having two more. There is only one.

Step four in poor decision making: Count the empties around you and curse yourself for not buying in bulk. It's a better deal, better for the environment, and better for your plans of drinking and writing copious amounts of 'written works' on your laptop.

Step five in poor decision making: Browse your playlist at four a.m. seeking out sad songs that remind you of love lost and opportunities gone.

Step six in poor decision making: Play your list of sad songs that remind you of lost love and opportunities gone.

Step seven in poor decision making: Download a video of Tim McGraw's Don't Take the Girl. Watch it with eyes wide open, dragging on God-knows-which-numbered-cigarette you've had tonight. Contemplate throat lozenge shopping in the morning.

Step eight inpoor decision making: Try to balance a beer beside your leg, assuming your cellulite thighs will keep it firmly in place while you switch songs. Dump said beer all over yourself.

Step nine in poor decision making: Be a big cheap-ass and don't keep paper towels in the house on an envrionmentalist kick. I'm a farmer, Dammit! My goal is to spray as many cancer-causing pesticides as I can across the Earth's surface in hopes of ending it's existence within the next ten years. Environmentalist, my ass.

Step ten in poor decision making: Use your last clean sock to mop up the beer you've spilt on your ultra-sexy jogging pants. Contemplate how bad it would smell in the morning if you didn't use the last quasi-clean sock you own o mop up the rest.

Step eleven in poor decision making: Give up on mopping up the beer and remove the jogging pants entirely. Because cellulite never looked better than when it is glistening in the glow of a one million watt lightbulb at four a.m.

Steps to recovery in poor decision making:
1) Listen to something happy.
2) Drink some Diet Ginger Ale!
3) Think about time soon to be spent at the Ranch with Mal!!
4) Plan on shopping in the morning for Cosmo ingredients and new playing cards.
5) Realize, it IS morning, Silly!
6) Re-vamp shopping plans to include waking up past one. Or maybe two.
7) Look at your happy kitty curled up peacefully at the foot of your bed.
8) Envision the ever-adorable Dixie sleeping there instead.
9) Arrange the flannel sheets just the way you like them.
10) Imagine yourself as a beautiful Goddess who can take on the world with a few beers in her system and one hand tied behind her back.
11) Watch that sexy Goddess kick this world's ass, coming out on top regardless of past errors.
12) Dive into slumber, carefully putting a thin layer of highly acidic acne cream on your face, then flossing and brushing and carefully placing one's retainer exactly where it belongs before you do so.
13) Lapse into a state of deep unconsciousness.
14) Awaken to know that you OWN this life, and it is what YOU make it, and what YOU want to make it can be anything in this world.
15) Give yourself a hug for being so damn positive every day. And then go back to sleep. Because everyone deserves fourteen hours of consecutive sleep now and then.

Toonses