Fuck You, Cancer...

Almost four years ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I wrote about what an ass her surgeon was here and about my own fears of medical procedures here. I didn't write much about cancer but I did know two things: it sucks, and the treatments are hard to get through.

Because of this experience, I've innocently and ignorantly thought that this was what cancer was like: It is really, really sucky, and then it ends and you can go back to your regularly scheduled life.

I haven't written very much about my childhood best friend on this blog. I did write this post four years ago as I was expecting her to visit my appartment in the big city all those years ago.

In that post, I mentioned her mother. Her mother was a wonderful figure in my childhood, one who I admired and who I thought was very, very cool.

A year ago, my childhood best friend's mother was diagnosed with cancer. I did my best to support my friend T, and the cancer treatments ended. Hurray! Life could go on as normal!

Two months ago, her mother was again diagnosed with cancer. T (Which is what I call her in real life... My T) told me about her mother's state and level of care and I was nothing but confused. When you get cancer, you get treatment, right? And then you go on to live your regularly scheduled life.

Right?

A little over a week ago, I was at my first horse show with Sargeant and my phone kept ringing. I didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer. The number kept calling and after the show I was left alone with a beer, my thoughts, and my ribbons and the phone rang again. I answered it and it was a voice I didn't recognize saying "Amanda?"

I didn't know who it was so I answered as though I knew who it was and the voice continued to say "I'm sorry to bother you when you're riding, your dad said you were at a show. I'm sorry to bother you..."

And I recognized the voice as my T. The girl who was my main person from the age of four through twenty two. And I knew it was her but it didn't sound like her and she continued to speak

"But my mother died this morning and I didn't want you to find out from the papers. You can keep riding, I know it's important to you..."

And I froze. I just kept saying "What? What!" into the phone.

I said I needed to be with her and to sit with her so my mother and I immediately left the barn and my mother dropped me off at her appartment. We sat in silence, numb and scared, together, drinking diet pop and smoking cigarettes, tears rolling down our cheeks in a state of terrified wordlessness that I cannot describe.

My best friend lost her mother. The girl I grew up with no longer has a best friend, a confidante, someone to shop with and someone to tell all her thoughts and fears to. Her mother was someone you could have beers with, someone you could tell about the guy you're dating, someone you could joke with, someone who made you feel like you were the smartest person in the world.

She always laughed at my poorly placed jokes, she always told me I was the smartest person she knew. She was always on my side, always in my corner and I could tell her just about anything and it wouldn't stun her. And no matter what I said, she supported every word of it. But this is not about me.

The girl I spend my childhood and teenage years with has lost the most significant player in her life.

I have no idea how to support my friend through this, how to say anything that would mean anything of value. I don't know what to do except to sit beside her in stunned silence because this is not what was supposed to happen. This wonderful, exhuberant, intelligent, caring, hilarious woman is gone from this Earth and my friend will never talk to her again.

I've deliberated over posting this since I heard of her death. Since I've known that she is gone I can honestly say that there has been an emptiness inside me, thinking of the horror my dear friend is going through.

In Quebec

I had a bit of a breakdown the other day and, as usual, I had to call Mal. Mal knows exactly what to say and what to do and I find this very comforting.

I called her and when she answered I couldn't speak very clearly. I took a deep breath and explained my situation as best as I could: I am in Quebec. There are children everywhere, I'm drinking caffeine free root beer, I haven't had a cigarette all day and I can't understand what anyone is saying.

Mal was all like, Dude! That would make any person cry! And why, pray tell, are you in Quebec? Don't you know they speak a different language there?

Instant laughter.

Phew.

The Road Trip: Part III

So this is where the trip started to get cool. We were on our way to visit some friends of Mal's in Halifax. Our plan was this: Drive for four hours, have lunch, drive for four more hours, get on the ferry, and arrive in Newfoundland in time to drive across the province before dark.

However.

Halifax turned out to be an asshole. Not that it wasn't a beautiful province or that the people were not pleasant. Just that we didn't know the roads on the way out of lunch and, as a result, I felt like Halifax was being an asshole to me.



We got turned around here, and instead of taking exit 7E, we took exit 7 East, or maybe it was the other way around, who knows. But we ended up turning on the GPS to find out where we were. We then turned it off again and ended up on a wrong road that turned out to travel us along the shoreline of Nova Scotia.

Sweet Merciful Mother of God.

The beauty.



Driving there, on a sunny, beautiful day with my dearest friend, I really felt at peace with the world, I'm not going to lie. I've never been on a 'real' vacation before, one free of stress or planning; one where I can just put everything off my mind and exist in the moment. And I realized then just how much I need to start existing in the moment because I felt absolutely free. I was looking at the boats and watching the water and admiring the towns and bridges and the sunset.

I felt like a new person altogether.

We made it back to the main highway and had dinner at an adorable little diner before driving further into the night.



However.

There was apparently a storm and the ocean was being uncooperative and our ferry would not be crossing the ocean that night.

We were forced to get a hotel room that night, one that was not smoking friendly but that offered free internet service and enough pillows for us to rest our heads on for the night. We slept soundly before waking up in the morning to see the ocean, get on a ferry, and arrive in Newfoundland. Twelve hours later than anticipated, but in Newfoundland nonetheless.

I felt uneasy going to bed that night because my Word, I was far from home. I still managed to sleep like a rock and wake up in relatively decent spirits the next day. I have to say that there was a lingering odor permeating all of our belongings at that time, but I didn't feel like mentioning it because it wasn't that big of a deal.

Yet.

The Road Trip; Part II

We fuelled up on caffiene and, well, fuel, and headed on our way. First big thang was Montreal, where I have never driven before and where there are bridges big enough to give me panic attacks for years to come. We got turned around once and were on our way within ten minutes.

Except that we were tired. Sleepy. Drowsy.

I slept for two hours and then took over the wheel as Mal slept for a couple hours. This would be my only time driving on our trip, and that too was fine.

Quebec wasn't that interesting to travel through. Although i have to say, the people there were lovely, making an effort to speak to me in English when they realized how terribly awful my French actually is. We stocked up on some Sangria here, thinking we would have a wild night at the hotel, living it up like it was our job.

I got very few photos on this leg of the journey, mostly because I was sleeping or trying to stay awake. One delightful tidbit I did get was this:



There are some oddly named places in this country of ours. This one is St. Louis Du Ha! Ha! Others I discovered along the way are Ecum Secum (Novia Scotia. I laughed at this one for approximately the entire time we were on vacation), Dildo, South Dildo, Gayside, and a number of other interestingly named locations.

We drove for over twelve hours that day. By the time we made it to our hotel room, we were more tired than when we started out. We were wondering if perhaps there was an odor about us, and so delirious we had trouble ordering food.

We only made it hald way through the first bottle each of Sangria. It reminded us of being much, much younger than we currently are. We then headed off to slumber in the glorious pillows that the oh-so-luxurious hotel had provided us with.

We woke up the next day, stocked up on coffee and gas, and headed out again.

The Road Trip, Part One...

Did I mention that? Did I fail to mention that I was going on the biggest trip thus far in my young life? That I would be travelling a journey of firsts? First road trip, first ocean, first ferry ride, first plane ride?

Oh, I didn't?

Probably something to do with the million hour work weeks, but whatever.

Mal is leaving. And at this point, I have to say that she has left. But for the time being, I have gone with her.

And I've never mentioned that my best, most beloved friend is going anywhere. She first brought it up ages ago, and I thought, Newfoundland? Nah, Mal's not going to Newfoundland!

You know, I've been in denial before. I've been in denial over the fact that I'm out of cigarettes, or that my car is out of gas, or that I'm not going to make it to work on time. Like, No way! That can't happen!

But this was a very real and very true case of denial. Like, nope! My best friend is certainly NOT moving away and I will never allow my mind to process this fact. And so I have not allowed my mind to process this fact.

And even while we were moving her stuff into storage and moving other stuff into my house for her to stay the last week, I didn't process that she was leaving. I didn't bother to think that this might be her last time in a long time at my house, or that we might not have this opportunity to stay up late into the night, chain smoking and giggling about ridiculous things.

The night before we left on her road trip, I worked twenty hours out of twenty four, in three shifts at two different jobs. So I returned home, planning to leave in eight hours, spun from my time at work, unable to find my GPS, and with a visitor in the house. And Mal was quiet and rather than being a normal human being, I carried on through the house flipping about my GPS and the packing and my laundry.

Mal went to bed and I carried on, trying to get my packing done and have just one more cigarette before bed when, at 11:57 p.m., it hit me. My heart stopped and I wanted to scream and instead I just continued sitting there like a zombie. It was Mal's last night in the Clifford Cave with me and rather than being with the person who needed me most, I was with my mother and this character.

Soon Mal came through the kitchen and sped off into the night before I could stop her and I returned to the kitchen thinking, this is it. This is the move that has ended our friendship, my fear of mentioning her leaving.

While she was gone I cried. I wept openly and I told my mother of the thoughts I've been having regarding her leaving, and I whipped out a pen and paper and I jotted it all down, those thoughts that have been plaguing me for so long but that I haven't let out because really, it hurts to have feelings.

Eventually she returned and we retired to the Clifford Cave together and she spoke the words that were on her mind, only I couldn't speak the words that were on mine. So I asked her if she could, if she could stay up for ten more minutes and read what I had written because I couldn't say it out loud.

How do you tell someone that they are your everything? How do you say those words that you can't make yourself say out loud? So I asked her to read my words while I fetched myself a beer and I returned.

Mal and I had more words to say and she finished by giving me the set of Jammies that I always wore while at her house. And she had washed them in her laundry soap, with her fabric softener, and every time I've been at her house for the last two years, I've put on this set of jammies and gone on about how much I loved the smell of those jammies.

And she passed them to me and I went to put them on, and I couldn't hold it in. I burst into tears and I threw myself on the bed beside her and I wept, holding her and the jammies, and I just said it out loud, I said that she is my person and that I love her.

The next day we headed out. We had bags under our eyes, our hair was messy, we were wearing less than impressive clothing. Her Chevy Impala was loaded to the gills.

Wild eyed, hair akimbo, and cigarette smoke billowing out the windows, we headed across Canada.

What's That in My Inbox?

A letter from WHO?

Joomy, avert your eyes.

And also, when you don't avert your eyes, please don't yell at me. And also please don't email me in a lot of capital letters.

Years ago, I broke it off with someone who caused me much heartbreak and many tears. If you're not familiar with the story of Dubai Guy, please read about it there. Dating this person was a huge eye-opener to me. He was also the first person I dated after my husband and I broke up; he came to visit me the first night I lived in my scary downtown apartment; he took me for my first ride in a Mercedes Benz; he remains the only person I know who things that Louis Vuitton footwear is something to be worn on a daily basis.

While I went through the process of blocking and deleting him from all of my accounts, it seems that he did not go through the same process with my information. And because I'm a sucker for making myself feel like I've been punched in the gut, I never did the smart thing and deleted any of his emails -- which appear regularly, about every three or four months -- before I opened them.

Most of his letters to me are short, succinct, and without probing for information on my life.

Every email I get is fairly straightforward: He asks how my horse is, how Dixie is, how life on the farm is. He always wishes me well and congratulates me on anything that is in need of congratulations. And of course, I never really give him anything in return other than the odd pic of my magnificent Thoroughbred or my happy beagle.

And then this week it came, the email that said he'd be in town and that he would like to see me.

And initially, due to turmoil in my romantic life that has again led me to believe that I am destined to be alone for the rest of my days, those old thoughts sort of crept back into my mind. You know, those ridiculous thoughts you have when things aren't going your way and due to the upset you're feeling at the time, those thoughts make perfect logical sense when you first have them.

Days later and my turmoil regarding the rest of my life remains; however, I've landed firmly back on the ground and I'm back in that place I was when we broke it off for good two years ago. Praise be, because I don't think I could go through another Dubai Guy breakup when he returns to his life and leaves me to live mine.

Even though I did make peace with our breakup, I've dreaded seeing those words in my inbox for some time. I was always so scared that all those old feelings would creep up and of course, they did. I realize why now, and I'm safe to say that there is nothing left, romantically speaking. Am I interested in grabbing a bite, hearing about his latest travels, reminiscing about the days when I worked in the corner store and he would come in and buy gum as an excuse to talk to me? Of course. Who doesn't like to hear a good story and laugh over the past?

But I am confident, and you should be too, that it will go no further than that.

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!

Five more days....

I currently have five more days of doing my work placement for college AND working at the group home. Then I'm going to be working AT ONE PLACE, and one place only.

I have three weeks until I go to Berry Season, and I'm already feeling a little mopey that I can't do the whole thing. I love Berry Season. I get to hang out with the Berry Babies, play my guitar with the Berry Queen and SuperNan, drink beer at the end of the day, and occasionally break out in hives after being yelled at by crazed fruit buyers.

Joomy mentioned something to me the other day that has my mind whirling.

You see, she recently ran a race (THE WHOLE FREAKIN THING) to raise money for a cure for Diabetes. Diabetes is Joomy's pet cause because her family has been affected by it.

Well, she mentioned to me that she is considering running a race for Breast Cancer as well. And, seeing as I have been directly affected by breast cancer, I'm thinking of joining her.

I admit, I have ulterior motives. For example, I could use to do some running to work off those excess beer pounds. If I worked a little harder on my physique, my riding would improve. I'd like to be a little more fit and shapely for the summer, and of course, being fit and healthy improves one's life span. (Of course, so would eating a vegetable now and then and not smoking, but really, who's paying attention to these things....)

I'm also thinking of actually being able to SEE Joomy in person. Words can not describe how much I absolutely love her, her sense of humor and her insights into my life and her never ending supportiveness. If we were training together, perhaps we could meet to jog every other week. Running AND companionship! What could be better?

At any rate, I can't commit completely right now, because I don't know what my work schedule will bring, or if I even have the energy to get off my butt or if I'll be free the weekend of the race or if or if or if....

But, the thought of doing something like this is definately on my mind.

There is No Peace...

I was talking to Mal today, about her plans for the future, and much to my chagrin, she mentioned moving back home to her parents. Her parents live over eight hours away.

I tried my best to sound like I thought it was a good idea, like, Oh, Yeah! Your parents! Yeah, if moving back in with them would be better, then, like, that would be so much BETTER!

Mal could sense the fake-ness in my voice, even though I was sincere in saying that if she wanted to move back to her parents, then surely I shouldn't be the one to try and keep her here. Because really, I want to hog up all the Mal time, and tie her up and keep her locked upstairs in my Clifford-accented bedroom so that I could ply her with second hand smoke and slightly inebriated jokes about the modern making of an honest woman.

While I was trying to have this conversation, the Precious Boy and one of the dogs were shrieking and barking and rumbling. And I couldn't hear her response because of the cacophony behind me, but I know that somewhere in there, I heard the word "Crazy."

And I said: "What?"

And she said: Crazy! Moving back in with the crazy family. I don't know if I could do it. Like, look what happened to you!

And I was all like: HEY! What happened to me?

And she was all like: Crazy happened to you, my dear.

So I said: How so?

And she said: Dogs. Dogs and small children and construction and voices. Lots, and lots of voices. And pounding and drilling and music and television. I mean, like, the environment is just so... crazed?

And at first I was a little offended, and said: You're calling my family crazy?

And Mall offered up: Well, not so much crazy. Like, Dude, I love your family. But every time I'm in your house, the environment feels a little... Crazed.

And I said: Ooooooh, crazed. Well, sheesh. You should have just said that, instead of calling us all crazy.

Because, really, being crazy is so much different than being crazed, and if she had just called my family crazy I might have had to sic a herd of wild dogs and small children on her.

Although, in all honesty, its not like I don't do that every chance I get already.

We are quite comfortable with the crazed status we currently have. But if you call us crazy?

Whoooo-wheee.

Cans of whoop-ass. Opened up all over this small town.

Sometimes...

I received a call from Mal in the early hours of the morning today, to listen to the latest in her life. I was awake at almost three a.m., because that's what the Crazy people do, they STAY AWAKE. FOREVER. Amen.

Mal was talking about what makes life worthwhile, and I was trying to explain to her how I feel about it, how no one thing can make you want to keep going on, how it has to be something that is not concrete. That even if you change your surroundings and your last name and get yourself a cat and end up living in the Depths of Hell, happiness might not find you because Hey, you might not have been looking hard enough.

And really, it sounds so trite. It sounds so pathetic and ridiculous to say "Go out and sniff the sunshine, and then your heart shall fill to the brim with JOY." Trust me, if anyone had said that to me last fall, when my life had completely fallen to pieces and I was driven over the edge by everything that was going on with me? If someone had said that to me, I would have gouged out their eyes with a wine corker. No lies.

I was driving home tonight and it was particularly frosty out. When I got on the road that leads me to The Ranch, at first I saw a patrillion little animals in the ditches, because all I could see were what I thought were eyes.

And then I kept driving, cautiously, and I noticed that all the trees and growth were covered in a frozen bit of frost, so that the road that leads me home looked as though it was lined with diamonds.

And sometimes, when this life acts like a giant pile of smashed assholes, you have to see the little things and hope quietly to yourself that everything will be ok, simply because you have no other choice but to go forward.

The Biggest Waste of Time Since Watching Grass Grow

I recently joined FaceBook, this illusive Internet phenomenon that everyone has been pestering me to join for about a year now.

I have to stop and say here that I refused to join for the longest time, and had a pact with Mal. Well, SHE CAVED FIRST. I found her on there when I joined about a week after she did. How odd that we would both cave at approximately the same time. Clearly, we have spent far too much time together.

At any rate, I have joined and I'm really not that impressed. I've been browsing people and thinking "Hey! That chick! We stopped talking in 2001 because we moved on with our lives! And now we can talk again!"

But if we went our separate ways years ago, why would we start talking again now?

Personally, I feel like its a little stalker-ish. And don't get me wrong, I love being a creepy stalker as much as the next person. But why am I sitting here looking at pics of people I don't talk to any more, finding out what is going on in their lives without them exactly knowing about it?

Its like spying, and it seems a little perverse.

But hey, who knows. Perhaps I'll soon become one of those facebook addicts and fall in love with the whole process.

Or, I'll just keep looking at it because I have nothing better to do with my time.

You Know You Waaaaaaaant It...

The Bride and Groom



The Bride and I

What's That? Total lack of Interest, You Say?

I've been neglecting my blog terribly over the last week. I think I've gone longer than I've ever gone before without posting some sort of update.

Well, here it is: I've fallen into a hideous funk since my appointment last Wednesday. I don't know how I made it through my best friend's wedding. I do recall plastering a smile on my face and walking tall; I recall lots of talking myself through every moment that made me want to stab myself in the face with a John Deere dinner fork so that I could complete my mission as Maid of Honor.

Bear in mind that the bride and groom did nothing to deserve a member of their wedding party in such a mood. The wedding itself went off without a hitch. Unfortunately, I've been generally feeling as though I've been run over by a tractor (A John Deere one, of course) that has a massive plough attached to it. It is as though my body is in little bits and pieces spread out around the land, all of them in their own separate piles of misery and achiness.

I feel like I have a constant case of whiplash in my neck; my head is aching and it hurts to move, ride in a car, walk down an aisle on high heels, or do anything else that requires motion on my part.

I feel terrible because I feel like crawling into a hole for the next fifteen years and coming out when the swelling in my neck goes down. I feel bad for feeling this way over my best friend's wedding weekend. I feel guilty because we were supposed to have a fire party and guitar playing on the night of the rehearsal dinner and I was so out of it that I left before nine. I feel bad that the day before the wedding I didn't go to help prepare until after three because until then I was wrapped up on the couch and physically could not get up. I feel bad that I had the most painful hairdo I've ever had in my life and I actually did complain about my headache a number of times on the wedding day.

In all, I feel like a giant pile of ass. I feel like I was a jerk over the weekend; I feel like my head hurts and my neck aches.

I could quite happily curl up into a ball on my couch and watch Grey's Anatomy for the next five days without moving once.

I also have not a morsel of doubt in my being with regards to whether or not I will take part in this activity.

Back at the Ranch...

After eight hours in a car on a highway full of truckers, I made it safely home to The Ranch early this evening. Mal was hungry so I made her forage for herself in the garden. Mmm, peas. Organic ones. Because organics are all that matter to beer drinking, chain smokers like me.

Zydo was happy to see me this evening. So happy, in fact, that he took his disgusting, snotty nose and swiped it all over my favorite capri pants. Mmm, horse snot.

Anxiety levels are high for me here on The Ranch tonight, as the vet comes to treat Zydo for whatever it is that ails him. So far I'm guessing that its either a grasshopper, a piece of plant material, a small rodent, a hair barret, or a piece of Tia's hoof from all the times she's tried to kick him in the teeth that is stuck up there in his nasal cavity. I'm thinking of starting a betting pool, but I suppose that offering a gambling service online would be against the law.

Whatever we find stuck up his nose, I promise to document it photographically. Hey, if its a mummified caterpillar, I may even keep it in a jar of formaldehyde. I bet that would be an excellent artifact to whip out on my next date.

Coperni-Kitty was somewhat less happy to see me. I tried to bribe her into letting me pet and cuddle her with the promise of yummy treats, but she ate and ran.

If I'd gotten the horse first? The damn cat would have never entered my mind.

Amanda's Status is Currently Set to Away...

My time in the middle of nowhere has thus far been well spent. I slept in until eleven o'clock this morning, a feat that is nearly impossible with sixty pounds of six year old leaping on your bed and the combined forces of your parents knocking on your bedroom door. And while I have a great appreciation for Zelda, and really, my parent are wonderful people, I find sleeping at The Ranch AN IMPOSSIBLE THING TO DO.

I've also bought a week's worth of really trashy, poorly written novels to laze on my little cot with because -- Oh, never mind, they SET UP A COT FOR ME. If that doesn't scream we love that crazy chick from CowTown, then I really don't know what does.

Checklist...

Makeup? Check.

Dress for dressy occasions? Check.

Shoes to go with the dress? Check.

Shoes that Mal doesn't hate to go with the dress? Check.

Ticket? Check.

CrazyMeds? All three varieties, Check, Check, Check.

Beer money? Check.

Extra ciggies? Check.

Mindless novels? Check.

Tampax in case of emergency? Oh, please. No one is that prepared.

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

And then there was a shower...

Nothing quite like waking up at six thirty in the morning so that you have enough time to wax your legs before you have to don a dress.

I had to wear a dress. I don't own anything else that is suitable to be seen in at a shower.

And of course, I was overdressed.

The bride made me wear flip flops. So my hideous feet were on display all day.

There was some minor hysteria earlier in the day, but that all settled down.

And then we got to eat cake, and really, how could anything be bad when there is cake involved?

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."

All Dolled Up

My best friend's stag was this weekend, and my brother showed up and nearly passed out when he saw us both in dresses. Typically he sees us lazing about the house eating chips in years-old jogging pants. Actually, I don't really think he's ever seen us any other way than with tied up hair that needs a wash and clothes that have ketchup and beer drizzled down the front of them. So, I decided to share a pic of me and my best girl with the Internet, because clearly I need to prove to people that I CAN PUT ON SOMETHING OTHER THAN JOGGING PANTS AND A PLAID JACKET.

I just regularly choose not to.

And being single IS TOO FUN, DAMMIT