Good Deed

Last night was crazy.

There was this guy at the bar who was all over my brother. He was very drunk. He said, "How've you been?" six hundred and fourty-three times. He said, "Yeah, I work out every day," thirty-six times. It was awkward. Especially when his girlfriend threatened us. I am too old for this crap.

At the end of the night as we were leaving, we saw him wandering the empty parking lot with not a soul in sight. He was trying the doors on random cars. I don't know what he was hoping to accomplish, but it was not going to happen.

We herded him into the car and started driving in the direction of his town. (Yes, he lives two towns over.) In the thirty minutes it took to get there, we asked him where he lived, if we could see his driver's license, if he could tell us his address... to no avail. It was like talking to a wall. A wall that said "Yeah" occasionally.

Finally, my brother got the brilliant idea for me (I was in the backseat with the guy) to rummage around in his pocket to find his wallet. I was less than a fan of this option, but it seemed we had little choice, so I took one for the team. I asked first, of course. He looked me up and down and said, "Yeah."

Great.

So I reach in and can't feel anything wallet-y. I'm really being careful, so it was very disturbing when he moaned at me. I grabbed his cell phone and got out of there pretty quickly after that. Brother called his girlfriend (who had left him at the bar, remember?) and she gave us "directions". No actual street names were mentioned. "Turn left at the lit-up barn with all the silos." That sort of directions. We were not going to get any help from him.

When we made it there, the door was locked and he couldn't find the right key, so (once again) brother took over and tried them, one by one. Eventually he got the door open, and pushed him inside. He stood there looking at my brother as if he was going to follow us back out, so Robby locked the door and shut him in.

Then we went to Hardee's.

He's probably got quite the headache today.

Hopeful

Here's hoping that this year is like March;  I hope it came in in the opposite way to which it will be going out.  In:  sad, inadequate, degenerate, alone.  Out:  happy, whole, productive, surrounded with love.  Not that I haven't been surrounded with love, but it's not completely been the sort of love I need.

Part of that will change soon, because I have finally connected with my sister.  I can't believe it took me this long, except I can totally believe it took me this long.  We're such different people, and only half of it stems from her being adopted out of the family.  I'm over the worst of it, though, and I really want things to be good for us.  I find it disgusting that she never met Bruce, for example.  One of the many ways I know that one or both of those relationships were not healthy for me.  Sadly enough, I'm sure that any inadequacies in that department belong to me.

I'm trying to blast up my year, my life.  In some ways it's not working as well as I'd have liked, but in those ways I have no control over it, so it is marginally acceptable.  I'm sure most of the people who read this are breathing a sigh of relief that I'm starting to count parts of life in the plus collumn again, after so much doom and gloom at the start of the year.  In my defense, however, one can't start out the year feeling awesome if one wakes up in one's car at 6AM having tried to drive on railroad tracks the night before on New Year's Day.

That's purely hypothetical.

For those of you who don't know, or who read my site through a reader (Hello!  I use Google Reader!  Please publish your full feed!), I'd like to mention that I have a sidebar application for Twitter, which I update (somewhat amusingly) a few times a day.  If I knew how to do a sideblog, ala:  Kerflop, then I would and save us all the trouble, but I'm unable.  

Text

He:  Woo.  Kinda drunk.

Me:  Wooo indeed!

Me:  Java beer?

He:  Bo's Vintage Ale... 22%abv  

Me:  Nice.  Have fun.

He:  Working on it.

Me:  I can't seem to resist telling you to be careful--it must be my old age.

...

Me:  You were supposed to deny that I'm old, cuntface.

He:  Sorry, can't hear my phone in the bar, old lady.

Day 28:

Drunk MySpacing is probably the worst and best thing that can happen to a person. Mostly the worst, though. Definitely mostly the worst.

I reconnected with an old friend last night, and it was the eerie connection thing like we've always had. Very strange, but also kind of familiar, you know?

My new favorite thing I've ever said: "Wow. I'm so thoughtful! I can't believe how thoughtful I am. What were you thinking?"

The responder responded with silence. The responder has no idea what the responder was thinking, and the responder regrets it deeply.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm making green bean casserole as I type. It smells like Thanksgiving.

I'm also sitting in my office listening to songs that I shouldn't be, songs that shouldn't be sad, really, and yet they are.

I saw an old neighbor at the bar last night, and it's possible I made him sad. I feel bad about that. I'd say I can't be held responsible for how I was last night, but I can. And I feel it. Damn.

Happy Turkey Day!

Revelations

Last night, I spent the night watching the first few episodes of season two of Desperate Housewives and drinking from the perpetual box of wine in my fridge. I spread some love around the internet, let some people in on some (not-so wise) wisdom, and generally felt like an ass all day long for the things I can't quite remember I did late last night.

Tonight, I went to see a few old friends and ended up catching up with more than I can count. I saw someone I'd been nervous to see again, and things went well. I got five unexpected hugs. I met somebody new, someone who could be a friend. I met someone I knew from a long time ago, but didn't really know. I saw two people I haven't seen in at least three years, one I hadn't seen in six or seven, and I drank three Sundrops. I had an awesome time. Apart from being completely wired on the sugariest soda known to man, I'm feeling very very good. I didn't say anything I won't remember saying tonight, and I certainly didn't say anything I'll regret. I helped a girl keep track of her purse. Tonight was good.

I've got some thinking to do.

Thursday Evening

I had a few glasses of beer and spilled my love all over the internet. I don't remember exactly all of the places I commented, but I did it a lot. I hope they appreciate my giant (open-mouth) kisses.

I'm very sure that Bruce won't be using his time in another state to create a second family.

He had to drive to Chicago today to meet someone who's offering him a job. It should be good. I'm crossing my fingers.

Keyboard Drama

stupid electrical wires, and other stuff. The quick brown fox jumped over the something creek or some other water source. I'm going to bed. So what if I spilt wine over the fucking keyboard? Everything seems fine! So far.

I Want a New Cat

And yet, everyday at about the same time, you can hear me cursing the cat we have. Most likely, I'm saying, "Damn you cat! Insert those claws into yourself in a most sensitive spot!" or, "Why do you love me when I hate you so much?!" but to be honest, I really do love this cat. The only problem is that we fixed him too late and his hormones make him hate me about 1/2 of the month. If I were fixed, maybe I wouldn't hate 1/2 the people I meet as much. But then again, my species uses tools, so I win. My prize is keeping my sexual organs intact. Woo-hoo.

I want a cat who loves to be petted, and not only when he feels he needs it. I want a cat who will show affection without crazy amounts anger afterwards. I want a nice cat.

I bought the new Sims game, "The Sims Life Stories" and I'm finding it amusing. Let me know if you find any tricks or anything. It's bothering me that I can't find a diagonal flower patch that will match my window box. If you hadn't already discovered that I'm getting old, you can think so now with my permission. I'm old and proud! Not only do I want my Sim to have a window box, I want my Sim to have a window box with flowers that fit into the space around it perfectly!

It's very strange to me that I'm the one wishing for another cat and Bruce is the one wanting another puppy, but that's the way things work, I suppose. Huck is undeniably my dog, and Linus favors Bruce. I want a cat of my own and Bruce wants a little dog he can carry around in his purse. It'll be very manly, wait and see.

I'll Let You in on a Secret...

[Added on 2-1-07: Here's where I tried to post a picture of the pizza I made for Bruce on his birthday.  Then I tried to post a video of the pizza sizzling, and failed.  I then gave up, because I was drunk.  Now, you may enjoy the picture.

Thanks for your patience.  Sometimes I like to forget about my drunken stupors instead of correcting the mistakes I made while in the middle of them.]

Things You Can Be Proud You Can't Say You've Done:

1. Fall over in the dark, knocking over things (you can't tell what they are, because it's dark) and hurting yourself. Crying. Sitting on the floor and having a little pity party for yourself. Drunk. While your husband laughs in the bedroom. Drunk.

2. Turning off the light in the bathroom before you leave, and somehow knocking the sink off the wall on your way out. Holding the sink for a few minutes, deciding that because there is water dripping on you, you must be outside. Completely convincing yourself that you are outside. Replying to your concerned friend, "No, I'm not OK, I'm outside and it's raining on me and my arms are getting tired." Drunkenly.

So anyway, on the way to the floor last night in the dark, I hit my nose on something. I still don't know what. Now my nose hurts and it feels like I've constantly got to sneeze. It's times like this that I wish I had a more extensive history of hurting myself. That way, at least I'd know if it was serious.

I have a feeling that it's only seriously embarassing.

How to: Make "Indian Tacos"

The first thing you have to do is to buy frozen bread dough. Place the bread loaves into seperate loaf pans, and wait for the dough to rise. When it does rise, oil your hands and break off pieces of dough to flatten and fry piece by piece.

Taco meat is not hard to make, and any idiot can buy shredded taco cheese and shredded lettuce at the supermarket, if they choose to.

Make sure you have taco meat and all of the taco fixings on hand to garnish the flatbread with. It's like Gorditas, only more poofy and with more grease.

Eat up, and Enjoy.

The Cable Guy

Our new house has internet as of yesterday. Last night, you may have noticed, I participated in one of my favorite activities of all time - drunken posting. Oh, how I've missed it. Oh, how my posts make little or no sense the morning after. In the larger of the two posts from last night, I quoted from a forward I recieved. When I've been drinking, I sometimes think that forwards are either amusing or contain useful information. When I'm sober, I usually delete them immediatly after reading them. When I'm drunk, I sometimes forward them on. I guess I've progressed to posting them on my blog now. I especially like the way that I avoided posting the whole forward, instead choosing to make a blockquote out of part of the email and then comment on it. Priceless.

Our cable man came out to our house yesterday and hooked us up. Tomorrow, we are getting a DVR. With the DVR comes the Family Fun package and HBO. We're not sure why it's called the Family Fun package, but it does have some of our favorite channels. I can't wait to watch Discovery Health all day long, and Bruce would marry MTV2 if it had boobs. We're pretty excited.

I can't believe how much happier I am to be living in this house. And I'm not the only one - as I type this, Huck is throwing his rawhide bone around the room and prancing around after it. It's very cute.

In other news, I got my knitpicks package in the mail two days ago, and I'm very excited to dye me some yarn. I haven't taken a picture of the yarn, but it's 880 yards of laceweight.

[I told Lisa about this on the phone the other day, and our conversation went like this:

Me: I got 2 skeins of plain-colored yarn today, and I'm going to dye them with koolaid!

Lisa: (pause) Is plain-colored yarn the same as "white"?

Me: (pause) Yes. It is.]

Here's a picture of the different packages of koolaid that I bought. I think that I'll be knitting an Icarus with one of them, and I'd like your opinion on what color you think it would look the best in. Here is a link to the Icarus Knitalong (which I will not be joining, I don't think) and here is a picture of the shawl that the knitalong posted when they started in May. And here is a picture of the packs of koolaid I have:

I also bought some needles. I can now say that I own a 16in size 1, a 24in size 1, and a set of five double pointed needles size 2. I'm very excited for those, because that's the size required for embossed leaves. I can't start them yet, but I now have the supplies.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I'm off to watch me some Fraggle Rock.

Shenanigans

Good lord, plenty of those.

Beautiful

Daughter, By Nicole Blackman

One day I'll give birth to a tiny baby girl
and when she's born she'll scream and I'll make sure
she never stops.
I will kiss her before I lay her down
and will tell her a story so she knows
how it is and how it must be for her to survive.

I'll tell her about the power of water
the seduction of paper
the promise of gasoline
and the hope of blood.

I'll teach her to shave her eyebrows and
mark her skin.
I'll teach her that her body is
her greatest work of art.

I'll tell her to light things on fire
and keep them burning.
I'll teach her that the fire will not consume her,
that she must take it and use it.
I'll tell her to be tri-sexual, to try anything
to sleep with, fight with, pray with anyone,
just as long as she feels something.
I'll help her do her best work when it rains.

I'll tell her to reinvent herself every 28 days.
I'll teach her to develop all her selves,
the courageous ones,
the smart ones,
the dreaming ones,
the fast ones.
I'll teach her that she has an army inside her
that can save her life.

I'll tell her to say Fuck like other people say The
and when people are shocked
to ask them why they so fear a small quartet
of letters.

I'll make sure she always carries a pen
so she can take down the evidence.
If she has no paper, I'll teach her to
write everything down on her tongue
write it on her thighs.
I'll help her to see that she will not find God
or salvation in a dark brick building
built by dead men.

I'll explain to her that it's better to regret the things
she has done than the things she hasn't.
I'll teach her to write her manifestos
on cocktail napkins.
I'll say she should make men lick her enterprise.
I'll teach her to talk hard.
I'll tell her that her skin is the
most beautiful dress she will ever wear.
I'll tell her that people must earn the right
to use her nickname,
that forced intimacy is san ugly thing.
I'll make her understand that she is worth more
with her clothes on.

I'll tell her that when the words finally flow too fast
and she has no use for a pen
that she must quit her job
run out of the house in her bathrobe,
leaving the door open.
I'll teach her to follow the words.
I'll tell her to stand up
and head for the door
after she makes love.

When he asks her to
stay she'll say
she's got to go.
I'll tell her that when she first bleeds
when she is a woman,
to go up to the roof at midnight,
reach her hands up to the sky and scream.

I'll teach her to be whole, to be holy,to be so much that she doesn't even
need me anymore.
I'll tell her to go quickly and never come back.
I will make her stronger than me.
I'll say to her never forget what they did to you and never let them know you remember.

Never forget what they did to you and never let them know you remember.

A Few Pictures

Last week, we had Lisa and Todd over to watch the Packer game. After the game, we decided to torture the cat. Here are some action shots:







I call them action shots because there is a camera cord in each and every one of them. That's because I was drunk when taking pictures. I took my customary picture of Bruce passed out in a chair:



And then there was a picture of my brother and I with our asses hanging out. (Most unflattering.) I won't be showing that one. After our ravaging of him, it's surprising that Linus still feels comfortable lounging in the Stroh's box. Rather it would be, except I've always thought he was kind of, well, slow:



And a gratuitious shot of Huckleberry:



Have you ever put a dill pickle in your beer? Genious!



And then I took a few self-portraits. This is the only good one:



And here is a picture of how many beers (determined by number of caps, you see) that I'd drunk before I took the self-portrait. (It also explains the drunk-eye.):

No Time + All the Time

The best thing about moving back home (to the house of my parents) is that I have no time to feel bad about where I am or what I am doing. I can languish in my self-proclaimed "OK Job", and leave everything else behind me. It's theoretically possible that I could support our (two-beauty, two-beast) family on my (meager and kind-of-pathetic) 10-hours per week. I know it's not ideal, and yet I feel I was gifted the opportunity to work where I've been working, and I shouldn't squander it. I also feel like I've been actually doing something for the past two years, and that is totally unlike any job-like experience I have had to date. Unless you count making sure that the parking lot for the gas station is spotless at all times, which I can say for a fact makes a difference in the world.

The worst thing about living at home is the sheer amount of dishes that can accumulate if your mom isn't washing them almost every day. I'm feeling all-the-time guilt about the dishes that are here. And seriously? We've been eating less. Where did they all come from? I have no clue.

Miller Brewing

Hi!

Last weekend we went to see my brother in Milwaukee. While we were there, we stopped at the place he was staying to pick up the stuff he had to move. (Hello, moody Tivoing dishwashing obsessive! Thanks for letting Robby stay!) We put the stuff into the car and moved it to the house of the girl who went to Europe with him last winter. (Hello, crazy centipede-capturing, picturesque-computer-owning guy! Roommate to my brother's friend!) It was fab. The guy with the centipede, though? I hate centipedes. Peter is a whack-job for keeping one in a jar like that. It was very nasty.

Then we all went on the Miller brewery tour. It was great. First of all, they're not like the Busch people - they totally understand that the reason people go on the tour is to drink beer. They don't take themselves too seriously - while they were all about the "In 18-something, Frederick Miller did something" references, they stopped themselves short of going into his family heritage in favor of more humorous references to the "Champagne of Beers". It was very worth-while. I recommend it.

We got to see lots of things, including the place where they package the brew. They would have been packaging the brew when we went through, but they weren't, because it was the day they do repairs:



Then we saw the warehouse, where they store about 500,000 cases of beer every day. (This is convenient, the tourguide told us, because Chicago consumes aproximately 40% of that beer every single day.) It was awe-inspiring:



Then we went to drink beer. I got a good picture of Bruce and Robby:


*Edited to show a non-fuzzy picture of the two of them.

And one of me and Robby, too:



Let's please not forget the moment when Robby totally abandoned all thoughts of comfort to lay front-down on the pavement to get the best picture ever in front of a Miller High Life bus:



Then we drank a couple of more beers. I can tell you without a doubt that after this weekend, everyone who's been aching for more pictures of my gorgeous brother will get them. We're going to dress up as pirates on Saturday. Doesn't that sound exciting? I thought so.

Why Don't You Marry Her?

Along with Lisa, I've been working on my self-esteem over the past three years. I say three because although she's been helping me off and on for over ten (can you believe it Lease? Ten years?) we've only really been connected for good for about three of them. There were times in there, crazy exes and crazy stupid college mistakes and nasty guys neither one of us should have found attractive and yet we fought over them sometimes, etc... we've been very close for about three years now.

The past year-and-a-half when I was living in Hickstown, USA, I really noticed how much of my self-esteem rests on her shoulders. I'm sorry to burden her with this, but it's the truth - a lot of my self-worth comes from knowing someone that awesome thinks that I'm pretty funny and cool. There are a lot of things about our relationship that some people might find daunting, like the unspoken competition that sometimes gets the better of us, but I think a little competition really spurs us on to great things. Unless there's a Mike Price involved, and then it's just wrong. In all senses of the word.

So, on Sunday night Lisa commented on how alike her and Bruce are, and how alike I and Todd are, and it made me think. I'm thinking that it makes no sense really for us to be with people we're exactly the same as, and all sense for us to pick someone who compliments us in the ways that Lisa and I compliment each other. For example, if Lisa and Bruce were together, they would spend all their time worrying about various money situations, and rarely let loose and really have fun. If Todd and I were together, we'd be homeless and begging quarters off of people to drink with in order to be the life of the party all the time. No one wants to spend time with either of those couples. It makes perfect sense to me that I would find a guy like Lisa to marry, and that Lisa would find a guy like me to marry. Of course.

After all, we always were the best couple in town.

[I may have been drunk when I wrote this.]

Happy Birthday to Me

So far our plan is to wait for Todd to get off of work (either four, five, or six o'clock, we're not entirely sure) and then go to the View, where I will get free drinks. Free drinks!

Last night I got free drinks, too, but that's cause this one guy at the bar thought I was pretty and needed beers bought for me on my Birthday Eve. He was nice, and although I don't think he was too thrilled by the idea of hanging out with my husband and I, I did offer. I'm not sure he was looking for a new best friend, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Considering the amount of Free Beer (not to mention the dollar beers) I drank last night, the thought of tonight's Free Beer is making me slightly ill. Now that I'm old (26, for those of you keeping track) I can't be doing the go-out-every-night-of-the-week thing. Nor the start-drinking-before-you-stop-being-drunk-from-the-night-before thing. That one's hard to master, and I think that after you let it go, it's gone for good. But poor Bruce hasn't been away from the house for any extended period of time in over a week, and I think he needs the fresh air.

And hey, Free Drinks! Who would turn that down?