Reunions and Irish Pubs

I should be sleeping. But I am wired from spending the last 4 hours trying (emphasis on TRYING) to put my photos from B's trip onto snapfish so that I can send them to him. I don't know whether snapfish is tired...or my lappy is. Either way, I am soooo close to breaking things that I am sure that I won't be able to sleep right now.

I figured I would spend this time to post some pictures on the trust old blog for those of you who were unfortunate enough not to have joined in the festivities...Poor you.

Okay, just let me start by saying that B hadn't been back here in several years and he specifically requested to see a bunch of people that we went to high school with so my job was to attempt to get them all in one place so that he could make the most of his short time here. We managed, in the two days he was here, to see everyone but ONE person...who was not to be invited to my apartment because of Spliff...long story...not telling it. Anyway, we spent his first day here, drinking...drinking...and more drinking...so the pictures involved a bunch of drunk, smiling faces and V singing on several different stages at various bars. (No, it wasn't a karaoke night, it was a V-is-a-musician-and-I-haven't-seen-her-in-ten-years-night.)

Then, on Friday, I invited everyone to my tiny apartment where I would cook dinner for the masses. Nope. We ordered pizza and drank too much. But it was a great time. Getting a bunch of people from high school together is fun. What is even more fun is when none of you have been in the same room for ten years. That, my friends, is awesome. There were a few surprise guests, both named Dan. One that I don't think that I have ever spoken to in my life and the other was the guy who, during a firedrill his freshman year, had mistaken me for our mutual friend and jumped ONTO my back as I walked back into the building. When I turned around, he realized I wasn't our friend and turned so red that I thought his head might pop off...After that, clearly, we had to be friends. You don't just give a guy a piggy-back ride and never talk to him again! That would just be cruel!

Anyway, here are some of the highlights.


For his first afternoon back in The Sunshine State, I thought that it would only be right to take B somewhere with a view of water and plenty of beer. Spliff met us HERE for happy hour. Perfect afternoon for it, I must say.




After many, many beers on the Intracoastal, B and I took the 45 minute trek to see V and her dad play at a cute Irish pub. As soon as we walked in, we were handed tequila. Damn you, V.












We weren't quite done after V was done playing, so we headed to another pub. This time, WAY closer to home. This is me and B after our Irish Car Bomb. (They're nazis and they made me do it.)









I think that B really, really likes V's brother. I am not really sure what is occurring here, but I do know that this was immediately after we all did shots of water to trick V's brother into doing a shot of something that I can't even name...but it tastes like mouthwash and it is clear. Ick.









That really is going to have to be all for tonight, internet. I have a stressful day of...Bingo and a petting zoo tomorrow.



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Now playing: L7 - Pretend We're Dead
via FoxyTunes

Picture Perfect

1. The age you will be on your next birthday?










2. your favorite color?








3.your middle name?










4. place you want to go to the most?









5. bad habit of yours?









6.favorite fruit?







7.name of town you were born in?






(And yes, this is the actual town. Yes, it still looks exactly like this. And no, I no longer live there, THANK GOD.)

8.name of your pet? Ummm...they don't have a picture for Ernge on Google. I could post one...but just picture Garfield, sans the lasagna.



9. a friends nickname?


minus the giggles part




10.your first name?



11. your last name?


I really don't know what this has to do with my last name but I figure, Hey, we like beer!

12. your dream job?


Because seriously, if I had any balls or any talent, I would be a pro surfer...And...well...My dream job could also be "Kelly Slater's sex slave"...it has a nice ring...

North Cackalacky

I’d never been to North Carolina before and I didn’t have anything planned for the week, so when B called and asked if I wanted to come up, I didn’t hesitate. At first, I thought driving would be fun. It would be new scenery a lot of time to listen to music and think, but by Sunday afternoon, I started dreading the seven hour drive that would take me to Raleigh and thought that I should fly. I booked a flight to leave Monday morning at 6 and immediately started packing. It was a pretty spur-of-the-moment sort of trip, but I managed to remember to pack everything except my phone charger. You know, the one thing that I kept reminding myself to pack.

I got to Raleigh at 8 on Monday morning. I was exhausted, having spent the entirety of Sunday running from this place to that and making sure that I had everything ready for the trip, but I managed to stay awake once I got there and fill the day with “Hippie Speedballs” and dirty martinis. We made too many trips to the grocery store and the liquor store, we managed to find a really cool bar that B had never been to before but had always been curious about, we swam in his brother’s pool, we listened to music and talked about everything. It was a great day. It was the kind of day that, when you open the vault of fond memories, it jumps out at you and screams, “I’m here!”.

I got to meet B’s friend (who I will refer to as my Drunken Rachel Ray) and we hit it off almost immediately. Of course, there was the few hours after we first met that sort of seemed like a test for me. I could tell that she had a few questions about my relationship with B and I could tell that she wasn’t sure what she wanted my answers to be. I opened up right away and told her that there was nothing between us, although, I don’t think she believed me right off the bat.

DRR and I spent a lot of time together while B was at work and we ended up actually really liking each other, which I think shocked her. B’s girl friends tend to be a little…territorial…and I think that they normally expect me to be catty and lame, but I do my best to show them that not all girls have to be bitches. It worked. We burned each other some CDs, we had a couple of dinners together, she brought me to see her apartment and she told me hilarious stories that she has never told anyone. “You must have something about you that makes me want to open up because I have known you for 24 hours and you already know WAY more than you should about me!”

I was flattered that she felt that way. We had a great time. Every night, when B got done working, he met us wherever we happened to be and we giggled and drank and giggled some more.

It was nice to get away from home for a while. And it was really good to see an old friend and fall right back into our niche together. It was especially awesome that I got to meet a really sweet and hilarious girl who can keep an eye on my friend and report to me when he does stupid crap so that I have fresh things to make fun of him about. Like breaking martini glasses or falling into a bush.

Memorial Day

In case anyone was wondering what me and the crew were doing for Memorial Day weekend, I will update you. No one broke any bones, there were no Bounce Houses, no claustrophobia...but there was a little thing we here in space like to call, "shot guns"...

Here is a tasty little nugget from the Memorial Day Weekend Hall of Shame. As you can see, we are all standing in my bathtub. We figured that, since the landlord lives next door and shot gunning beers in the front yard at two in the afternoon tends to look a little, you know, white trash, we would all stand in the bathtub and take photos.

From the left we have Mr. Jack Johnson. He is not really Jack Johnson, he just happens to look exactly like him when he is wearing sunglasses. It wouldn't hurt if he had a guitar, but whatever. Then there is me. I look like a crazy person. In my defense though, my beer was the first one opened and had been exploding on me for twenty minutes while Mr. Johnson tried to figure out how to work the timer on my camera. So, I had a beer shower and I couldn't stop laughing. Sue me. Next is Andrew. He is on shirt number 2. He had already spilled red wine on his own shirt and is currently sporting the one that I got for free on St. Patty's day for doing a shot of whiskey. Which again, was not a good idea. But Andrew has a new shirt. Then there is my rock star roommate and best friend, Spliff. Doesn't she look like she could be walking the red carpet with, like Brad Pitt or something? Okay, no? Maybe Lil' Jon? Whatever. She should be on some sort of carpet. Somewhere. Maybe not red. But...she is such a rock star.

Happenings

Alright, Alright...

It's been a busy week involving Christmas shopping and birthdays and wine drinking...but now it's winding down...as I prepare to venture out into the abyss...Otherwise known as, THE UPPER PENINSULA. Yes, folks, I am headed tomorrow to to the motherland. And while I pretty much would rather pull all of my hair out, I am pretty excited about the prospect of not having to work for the next ten days...

So...As I sit here, procrastinating and NOT packing my clothes...(which, I suspect, will be highly unsuitable for the weather)...and thinking about freezing my ass off in Michigan, I have uploaded some photos to catalogue the happenings in the land of the Criz...Basically, just the debauchery from Spliff's Christmas party...but...there will be more to come.

I hope you enjoy...and have a fantastic holiday...or...you know...not...if you don't celebrate the holidays. Right...

Moving along...

To the left is Spliff and friends at the start of the infamous Christmas Party/Scavenger Hunt where we raced golf carts and shot each other with nerf guns...





To your right, is the view from our FREE hotel room at the Amelia Island Plantation. Yes...we are effing spoiled.
But to repay the hotel for letting our drunk asses stay there, we left several items in our room. (Make up, two tee shirts, two tank tops, and a jacket. GO US!)






Michael Jackson through the ages. This was an act at the Christmas party talent show. Spliff and I thought that she should play the harmonica (read: breathe into a harmonica creating a horrible screeching noise) and that I should riverdance (read: gallop around like a moron to the "music")...but we decided that even if we had and even if she wore her bar wench costume, we would never beat these guys...





If you look very closely at this one, you will see that the guy on the far left is spilling his drink. And if you look closely at everyone else, you will notice that the pupils of their eyes have been replaced with X's. I have no idea what time this was. I have no idea if I took this picture. But I can tell you with certainty, I am not one of the drunk asses in the picture. And for that, I am grateful.






The one on the left here was taken the morning (errr...afternoon) after the party. I have no idea why I am wearing these hideous glasses. Nor do I have any idea why I am so excited. What I do know is that this picture was taken at brunch, where my sole mission was to drink through my hangover.

That's about all I can post right now. I have to get busy on last minute shopping, packing, charging things that need to be charged and running around like a madwoman...but first, there will probably be more procrastinating.

I don't know if I will be able to post from the Great White North, but I hope that everyone has a lovely holiday!

I'm out!

Straw Face

Yesterday, I compared my life to a game of “Oregon Trail”. (I know, given my obsession, this probably isn’t the first time, but…so?)

You know how it is, just when things are looking up and conditions have improved enough that you can maneuver the wagon further along the trail, someone dies of dystentery. OR Spliff’s cat gets bitten by one of the bastard strays that live outside. And one side of her face swells up so that it looks like she is sucking on golf ball.

That was Saturday. We woke up and brought our tea out to the balcony before heading off down the road to sit on the beach.

“Your cat looks weird.”

“I know! What’s WRONG with her?”

Bridget stared at us blankly and walked slowly back into the house. By the time we’d finished watching the Hot Old Guy and the Fisherman at the beach, her face had grown to epic proportions. And an Emergency vet visit was in order. They kept her there for a few hours and when Spliff brought her back, she had just come out of anesthesia, was growling, and had a straw through her cheek. (We are still unclear on the purpose of the straw.) It wasn’t until Jess left at 3am, that she was coherent enough that we could attempt to apply…(drumroll, please)…the cone-shaped collar.

For those of you who have not met Bridget, she is the ruler of her own domain. She does not like to be touched unless it is her idea. She does not cuddle except when she is sleeping on Spliff’s face. She is…the boss. So, you can imagine that at 3 in the morning, after two bottles of wine and countless brownies, we had a hard time trying to get a collar on her without hitting the…face straw. So, after an hour, we gave up and called the pet ER. They said that they would do it for us if we brought her in, but we didn’t see much point seeing as she wasn’t really messing with her wound anyway. So, Spliff stayed up with her all night, making sure that she didn’t try and perform kitty surgery on herself. And I…well…I didn’t sleep either.

She got the face straw out yesterday and seems to be getting back to normal. Aside from the hole in the shaved side of her face. But…in due time…so…Hooray for stray cats in our yard. If Ernge ever had any dreams of returning to the wild, he is going to be VERY disappointed. Indeed.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Ebin" - Sublime

This Used to be my Bedroom

That lovely black area there? That's my bedroom window.

I thought that I would finally get on it and show you the wreckage...

Show and Tell

I thought this blog needed some decoration...so I will take this opportunity to give you all a peek into my weekend.


To your left, you will notice that Jenn is a master voguer. (I just made that word up...cool, no?)







To your right, is the dance floor on which we shook our asses. Yes...music...makes the people...come together.



And here's what happens when they do. Ass grabbin'.





To your right is what used to be my playground...and will be again...in just a few short weeks. (I really don't know what's up with this Madonna theme I have going.)




To demonstrate to Jenn what would happen if we lived together again, I took the liberty of punching her in the face. (I can't think of a Madonna song that fits here...)






Thank you...and goodnight.

(The Absence of) Brilliance

I had set aside, like I do most often, the afternoon to post a brilliant and hysterically funny little dish for you today (I realize that the brilliance and hysterical funniness rarely happen…but…that’s neither here nor there.)…and then, just as I was returning from my weekly trip to mom’s for “the laundry experience”, all hell broke loose.

All of a sudden, I was the only one left in the office. At first, I thought, “Awesome. I can get some peace and quiet.” (Because today was National Bitch About Everything Day” in the office.) And then, BAM! And yes, I mean BAM! (And not the moderately loud “bam!” that one might use to describe the slamming of a door or something of the like. The kind of “BAM!” that sort of makes one want to curl up into the fetal position and rock oneself to sleep. Crying.)

You guessed it. Attack of the Psycho Patients (Wednesday Edition).

There is no doubt in my mind that this is payment for my statements the other day about the office being slow. But there I was. All alone with the incessant ringing of every line on my phone. Every call worse than the last. Every patient just a little closer to the edge. And by the end of it, I was spent. After three hours of sheer ridiculousness and saying the same thing, to the same people, over and over and over and over…it was finally time to get out. And it was like getting out of jail. I mean…I imagine…Shhh…

So now…after calming myself with several cigarettes and beers…I still don’t have anything brilliant or hysterically funny to say…Go figure.

God dammit. I need a new job. Right fucking now. I need an office with a window. I need a secretary and a huge salary. I need a Starbucks cart that comes to me every morning. But first, I need them to remove all calories and fat.

But most of all…I need more alcohol. (Ernge keeps eying mine anyway...)

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Mouthful of Cavities" - Blind Melon

Drag Show Night and The Many Faces of Anthony Rapp

So far, the weekend has been just what I needed. Some alone time, a new movie from Netflix, some feeding my addiction to the Sims, and some beer.

I slept until noon today. And that, while it may not sound unusual for me, has not happened in months. Neither has a Saturday spent all alone. It was a good day.

But somewhere after beer number two, I lost my desire to stay home and work on getting various Sims people to have sex and decided to venture out into the world. That’s right folks, its Saturday, and that can only mean one thing. Its Drag Show night. So I called the MP and told her to get her ass over here and take me out to meet some guys who have better boobs than me. So…in a mere matter of minutes, I will be heading out for the first time in months, to the only place in town that no one buys me drinks. I don’t know what I was thinking. I am far too broke to be paying for my own drinks and MP will be far too busy trying to pick up chicks than worry about whether or not my beer is full. Oh well, at least I look fabulous.

In other news…I decided today to watch “Dazed and Confused” because, even though I bought it years ago when I was living with Spliff, I never watched it. (Not since high school.) And to my surprise, Anthony Rapp is in it. Am I the only one who didn’t know? Am I the only one who was shocked to see my beloved Mark playing geeky little Tony? Wow. So, I looked him up on IMDB and holy god, he has been in everything. “Adventures in Babysitting”?! I was just thinking about that kid the other day. Because there is one scene, where the kid is telling a story trying to freak someone out or something, and he made a really horrible (grotesque, even) face that I can still see more clearly than any other scene in that movie (other than Thor…because damn it if my obsession with Vincent D’Onofrio will ever go away…)

Who knew? So…I love you, Anthony Rapp. I really do.

I had THIS many drinks??? 

Wall o' TVs 

me and jj from mofro 

A Brand New Day

Its official, folks. And let me be the first (or at least the second) to wish you a Happy David Hasselhoff Appreciation Day!

I would like to thank Jess for making me insane with the constant flow of Hoff material for my viewing…uh…pleasure? And thus annoying the bejesus out of me enough that I would write about it here. Which got the attention of Charlie (who is somewhat of an expert on the subject of celebratory days) and gave birth to a grand new holiday. Go here to see. (No, seriously. Go. I’ll wait. You won’t be disappointed.)

National David Hasselhoff Month

Okay, so…on St. Patty’s Day, if you recall, I found a picture on my computer at work entitled “Dork” which ended up to be the picture of a shirtless David Hasselhoff. Why was it saved on my computer? I still don’t know. Who is responsible? My only guess is Ricky.

So, that very same day, I am blogsurfing and what do I find? That’s right folks. I found this. Which would have been bad enough. Except that the next day, courtesy of the lovely Jess, I received a Hoff calendar. There were shirtless Hoffs, 70's pornstar Hoffs, Holiday Hoffs, each one sending a wave of sadness and nausea throughout my body. Of course, I sent it to Ricky, hoping it would quench his insatiable desire for all things Hoff, along with a response to Jess reading, “I hope that you aren’t misreading my blog entry to mean that I don’t have enough pictures of David Hasselhoff. But thank you for the thought. You freak.”

And now? Now, I would just like to say to Jess. You are sick. Stop sending me this crap. I can’t take it. This is as bad as Phil Collinsing a sista. Don’t make me come over there.

I will leave you all for now, with a taste of the madness.

Lederhosen, Grand Theft Auto, and Knitting (not in that order...)

This is possibly the first Thursday in a long time where I haven’t felt like I could strangle someone at the end of the day. It actually turned out to be very busy, but quite calm. Not too many crazies or whiney docs. Not too much bitching from coworkers. All in all, I left with a pretty good feeling about the day. I accomplished a lot. And not only that, but it went by with almost no bumps in the road. That almost never happens. That said, I am sure that since I am expecting tomorrow to be an easy day, it will be hell.

I am feeling like doing something. But not like, running a marathon (oh God no…), something expressive. Something…new. I have been joking about the idea of taking up knitting. And yeah, it sounds cheesy and silly…but the truth is, I can’t draw or paint, my writing is coming out in spurts of randomness that I can’t even decode, and I have no musical ability (aside from the mastery of the mix CD) which leaves my beautiful guitar waiting and waiting, so I am seriously thinking about trying my hand at it. I just want to make a scarf. Actually, I want to make a blanket. A magic one. One that someone, someday can’t go on trips without.

I swear I must have ADD though, because every time I even look at something with all of those words that don’t make sense, instead of trying to figure them out, I just find something else to do…Like clean out my amazon.com wishlist (which, by the way, is ridiculous and huge).

I am not bored, really, just antsy as hell. And I can’t figure out why. I have been helping a friend plan a wedding on a budget and things are turning out really well. I am actually going to attempt helping to make a wedding cake (I know, I will make sure I don’t burn the house down…but cut me some slack, I am trying to help), but I think I might end up trying a million times and then giving her my entire savings account and running away flailing my arms and screaming. I don’t even like weddings. And I most likely, will not even attend it. But seriously, she needs help and I feel…well…happy to be able to do what I can. I should be effing sainted. (I vaguely remember being knighted last week…Hmmm…)

Pookie’s car was stolen…AGAIN…from the front of her house and found only a street over from the last time. I tried to convince her that a sign that says, “Dear Fucker, Stop stealing my car.” Wouldn’t really help, so now she is just running outside seven times during the night to check and see if it is still there. For those of you who have lost count, that is twice that her car has been stolen in three weeks. She said that if it weren’t happening to her, she wouldn’t believe it…unless it was happening to me. Just for the record though, if anyone steals Lucy once, they will be drawn and quartered.

I had a conversation early this morning that included the sentence, “I can pour myself into some sexy lederhosen for you.” And that, my friends, is the rockinest sentence uttered in a long time. The words sexy and lederhosen do not go together…(No offense to any of you who might be sporting some at this very moment…) It’s just fact, dude, accept it.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Transatlanticism" DCFC

The Trip

Since this trip was more complicated than any vacation should be, I am going to sum it up twice.

Aesthetics:

The trip was fantastic. I spent two days on a beach overlooking Haystack Rock in Oregon, a day in the city, and several lazy days in a sleepy little town outside of Seattle. I didn’t have a parka but I got a sporty little jacket that, until I move, I am sure I will not wear again. (Which, I believe, was actually left on the floor of ZH’s car.) I met some really cool people including (but not limited to):

1. A girl who might well be the owner of the OTHER part of the brain I share with Spliff (I do realize that if we split this up into any more pieces, we may all be in trouble…but seriously, this girl might as well be me.) She told me a story about kicking someone in the mouth over nachos. Yeah, that’s right, she’s hard core. (Not really, she is a sweetie.)

2. A guy who is very competitive and got into an argument once with a guy who said his head was harder. He then preceded to hit himself in the head with a rubber mallet and bleed all over everything. But he redeemed himself by supergluing the gaping hole back together and continuing to party. I saw the pictures. Rockin’.

3. ZH’s very sweet mother who speaks softly and calmly even when discussing what action should be taken with my uterus. (She merely suggested that another granddaughter would be delightful, mind you, but whoa…)

The scenery was astonishing. The difference between the Oregon coast and the Florida coast is vast and seemed like a different planet altogether. For the life of me, I can’t remember the name of the park where I took all of the amazing pictures but…whatever…

Seattle was all that I expected it to be. Soggy, gray, and full of coffee and interesting things to see. Obviously, even despite the lack of sunshine, I fell in love with it. All of it. The farmers market, the EMP, the breath taking view from the Space Needle. I even braved the chill at the front of the ferry into the city to take pictures. Yeah, that’s right, I was cold. Voluntarily. It was truly a growing experience.

ZH’s daughter (Zebra Kid) was a delight even when she was jumping on the bed at 8am wanting to play “the horsey game” and I didn’t even mind playing house for the few days that we had her. Of course, there are always the people who say things like, “Oh, honey, you look just like your mommy.” To which my reaction is usually a glance over each shoulder and then a defensive response like, “Oh, no! She’s not…Um…I’m not…Her mom’s not here.” (Which is usually followed by an uncomfortable silence between said person and myself.)

Okay, now for part two.

On the sentimental tip:

Saturday morning started with too much coffee and too many cigarettes. When Pookie finally arrived (after breaking her coffee pot and begging me to make a second pot so that she wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel), I was already down to my last fingernail (and I don’t even bite my nails). My stomach was turning and my mind was racing and I could barely form a sentence. But once airborne and engrossed in my book, I started to forget about the insanity of the situation. Until my plane landed in Seattle. That’s when things got tricky. Part of me wanted to push everyone out of the aisle and dart out of the plane, but the other part of me wanted to curl up in the fetal position and stow myself in the overhead bin.

Being that I hadn’t seen ZH since the infamous letter situation, I wasn’t entirely sure that my reaction to seeing him would be smooth or appropriate. I called him from the gate as I stepped out of the corridor and hoped that I had a few minutes to gain my composure before we found each other. Turns out, I had about 45 seconds. I ducked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face when we hung up and braced myself for the impact.

Things went as smoothly as I could have imagined. He immediately swept me up and wrapped himself around me but it was the kind of embrace that left me stunned. Not completely comfortable but not completely foreign.

We had lunch before he took me to meet his mom and greet Zebra Kid, which gave us an opportunity to try and relax. My stomach was in knots and lunch wasn’t an option. He laughed at my birdlike appetite and gave me a hard time about how much I was going to cost him if my lunch was so expensive. It lightened the mood but still left me feeling awkward and uneasy.

By the next morning, though, as we were leaving for Oregon, things were just as they should be. Our fingers remained intertwined for the entire drive. We reminisced and we talked about the distinct possibility of our own insanity. But we were comfortable. We fit perfectly into each others essences and we laughed more than we had in ages.

Needless to say, if I had to write the letter over again, I would.

And by the last day, after taking ZK to paint pottery, and meeting 27 of his closest friends, and moments of complete and utter terror on my part, I felt like I was home. And I realized that it doesn’t really matter to me where home is, just that he is there. (And yes, that does sound too much like a line from a sappy love story. Shut up. I do what I want.) But then there was the part where I walked away from him and ZK and came home to my regular life.

This was the most heart wrenching part. A moment that didn’t seem like a moment at all, but an eternity. When I let go of ZH’s hand long enough to kneel to say my goodbyes to ZK, I saw that she had started to tear up. She looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, “But…I will miss you. Are you coming back next weekend?” And I hugged her tight and stood. I would have been alright if I hadn’t looked at ZH next. I would have made it on to the plane with a dry face, but I made the mistake of looking directly into his face. And I realized that ZK wasn’t the only one tearing up. I managed not to start crying until they were out of sight. Even with ZK waving back at me with the sad eyes and the pouty pink lip. Even seeing that ZH’s long, confident stroll had turned into a slow, slumped one.

But once they were out of sight, the waterworks started and didn’t completely stop until I reached Houston. Where I sat at a bar, drank beers, and watched enough of the Superbowl to know that I never want to watch the Superbowl.

And now, I am home. And I use the term “home” loosely.

Haystack Rock!!!

Me, The Idiot, and Spliff