Birthday Party Adventures

I know I am the most unreliable and absentee blogger in all blogging history. I apologize, and appreciate your continued patience. You have to understand, man, I compose these beautiful impromptu passages of prose while I’m in the shower, on my bike, working, or doing whatever other repetitive, medatory tasks come my way during my day. Unfortunately, due to the nature of these tasks, I simply don’t have my hands free to write. Aside from that, the train of thought seems to be fueled by the repetitive motion. If I was to pull my bike over and jot down a note, the rest of the thought would just dissipate like a dream when you aren’t dreaming it anymore. So incase you were thinking of pulling the plug, don’t! There is higher brain activity present.

As far as what’s been happening recently, I wanted to go to the movies, and had the opportunity, but passed it up in favor of chilling with the husband. Actually, we both decided we’d rather just sit around and talk than go see the new Transformers movie. When did we get so old?

We did however, go to a birthday party. Me being me, the Token Bi Chick Disaster, an ordinary birthday party experience was metamorphasized into an adventure of Jumanji proportions. First, I directed my husband to the wrong party. I was only a block off, and the birthday girl was very sweet about us crashing her party, but all the same, the moonwalk in the backyard should have tipped me off. Whoops. At the correct birthday party, I managed to not only drop a beer on the driveway, I then also dropped a drunk chick on my foot. Sometimes it hurts to be this cool.

The beer dropping wasn’t all that exciting, really. I had the bottle wrapped in a napkin because it was cold, and the napkin slipped. It did look however, like I just threw a bottle at my husband. >:) A few hours later, the drunk chick decided she didn’t feel like wearing shoes anymore and some considerate soul noticed that we never swept the broken glass off the driveway. She had plopped down nearly on ground zero and was refusing to get up. I said I’d make her move, she said I couldn’t, and then the machismo kicked in. I picked her up, completely forgetting that she was about twice my size, and more importantly, drunk, and would therefore be less than helpful in controlling her weight. When I lost control, she went down on top of me. Then I had to sit there with my leg pinned down until someone helped her up.

So now my right ankle is all shades of purple and red and I just whacked it on the leg of my desk. Will I ever stop?

Bikes, Brews and Cats

I have not gone hiking yet, and since Spoot just bought a new bike, I doubt I will. Poo, poo. However, while we were at the bike place picking up Spoot’s new toy, I found the Schwinn of my dreams. Let me first say that I am not a connoisseur of bicycles, but I know something awesome when I see it. Check this out! Oh its so beautiful! So nostalgic! And its a street bike!! Currently, I have a mountain bike, which when I was a kid and was riding on the road as little as possible was a good thing. But now, I don’t venture much from the pavement. A smooth-riding, radio flyer red, fendered, two-wheeled wonder is exactly what I want. And it has a rack of awesomeness on the back which I’m sure I’ll be rigging up a box onto so I can go grocery shopping on my bike. Can’t wait! Can’t wait!

On the subject of homebrewing, I have changed my opinion of my first batch. It must have aged while I was procratinating drinking it, because now it tastes pretty damn good. Some bottles are better than others which is odd, but on the whole it is smooth yet crisp, perfectly carbonated, and in general, supremely drinkable. I would be a liar if I said it was the finest beer I ever quaffed, but short of that, its quite alright.

Of the two cases it made, only seven bottles remain, so it is at last time to attempt another batch. This time I’m going to try my hand at part extract/part grain, hops, and non-dehydrated yeast. I’ve done an absurd amount of reading, and think I have some idea of what I’m doing. I suppose we’ll find out. Oh, and because I’m actually using a recipe instead of a basic formula, this beer has a name: The Sun Has Left Us on Time” Steam Beer. Evidently, Thomas Edison wrote in his diary, “The sun has left us on time, am going to read from the Encyclopedia Britannica to steady my nerves and go to bed early. I will shut my eyes and imagine a terraced abyss, each terrace occupied by a beautiful maiden. To the first I will deliver my mind and they will pass it down, down to the uttermost depths of silence and oblivion.” And that, ladies and gents, is what I want in a beer.

I’ve wanted for a while to write a movie review, but I haven’t been to the theater since I don’t remember when, and the only movies I’ve watched at home have been bad, bad, bad. Well, I enjoyed them, but I like bad cinema. So, unless you want to hear about Valley of the Dolls (I and II) or Bruce Campbell flicks, then I’m going to skip that chapter.

In other news, Tart is in heat again and again trying to get Gabe the eunich to lay her. Gabriel has no idea what she is after and alternates between trying to play and ignoring her completely as she humps his back. They’ve been living together for some years now and Gabe is very used to her periodic episodes of madness. She goes nuts and he patiently waits for her to return to her normal mode of behavior. This is all business as usual, but I still find endless amusment in the higly dignified Tart trying to teach Gabe how to fuck.

On Foot

Four more days of work and I get five days off. What am I going to do with all that free time? I think I’ll go hiking. I get into this automatonic rut when I get on a long stretch of work and almost forget entirely what I like to do. Life becomes this cycle of laundry, cooking, getting up in the morning, working, working out… the never-ending list of things that need to be done. And one continues on like Ivan Denisovich because it will not be this way forever, but one needs to survive the meantime to get to the enjoyable parts. And really, I enjoy cooking, I don’t mind doing laundry, that is, I like it when my laundry is done, so there’s a satisfaction in doing it for myself, and working out is not all bad, really. But I don’t enjoy those things simply in themselves. Even knitting or reading become tedious after a while. But hiking feels so much more escapist; so much more like playing. So I think I will play this long weekend. I think I deserve it. Truly, that is my ideal day: going on foot to somewhere I’ve never been before. Oh I can’t wait.

Working Out

I am beginning to think that no amount of beating a pillow will not make it suddenly metamorphosize into a spring; it will only make the pillow feel abused.

I will perservere.

Giggling With Delight

I asked my husband to update my avatar a little (check it out!!) and he just went nuts with the character sketches. I love them all, but this is my favorite.

If Marleenken played Starbuck...