this imploding heart

Schmappy Who Here!

Well, you sweet n' perky TaTa's, it's about to be a new year.

It's about to be a new year, and it turns out I have superpowers. Yesterday, the first thing out of my mouth was "Hey! Cakerface! Howsabout you skip work and stay home to entertain me?". And guess what happened?

If you guessed "He got canned", you're wrong!

If you guessed "For some freaky reason, he just didn't have to work for the rest of the week", well, you guessed it, hotpants.

So today I was informed of the following: a woman lactovulates every 28 days, not a single house sold in King county during 2003 sold for less than 4 million dollars, and I have a giant hickey on my throat.

None of these things turned out to be true.
After Maury Povich, they ask "Did you lose more than 100 pounds, and are now sexier than ever? Call this number, tell us your story, and YOU could be on the MAURY POVICH SHOW!!!"

"Hi, I just saw your advertisement, and my girlfriend, Sonya Walker, would be GREAT for your show. I spoke with her about this just a moment ago, and she'd love to tell her story, her number is 206-***-****, give her a call, she's really become a beautiful girl." He hung up the phone, turned, and gave me the shit-eating-est grin ever.

"You bastard."

"What're you going to say when they call?!?"

So I got my wish for amusement, and it looks as though I won't get any work done on my rinky dink research paper.

It's a new year, lovepoodles.

Tiny Roomate is locked up in customs at the Canadian border and I just handstitched a new neckline for an old dress.
(Man, Frank Sinatra was a handsome young son of a gun.)

I'm thankful for the following events or non events of 2003, in no particular order:

My mothers relative amazing health, including her robotic turbo heart.

My father giving up all that Pepsi.

My Terrorizing May Day Experience.

Our brand new wireless connection at home, painlessly provided by some lovely foriegners.

Starting school just as everyone else my age was graduating.

Accidently showing my ass to all of New York City.

Patrickt being willing to face his fear of heights so that I could show my ass to all of New York City.

The birth of Vanessa Mann

Tiny Roomate and Jack graduating from the Vassar School of Hair and Nail Design and Harvardio School of Agriculture, and both deciding to move within 200 yards of me, saving me all the trouble and panic of moving more than a few blocks at a time.

80 percent fewer panic attacks per month, as of July.

related Cake's magical calming powers.

relatedLearning that the things that tend to upset me most are things I can't change, so why be upset?

That Clem Snide show I saw with Molly.

That Electric Eel Shock show I saw with Tiny Roomate. (I think I'm going to try calling her just 'Tiny' from now on. What do you think? 'Tiny'.)

Feebly singing backup for Her Holiness the Rockstravaganza, Erin. and all that
transpired and shall never be mentioned again. (except for those motorcycle pictures, which shall be mentioned at an opportune time in the future.)

Miniature World in Vancouver, BC.

That weekend when I tried to make everyone do The Robot and then fell asleep in somebody's car.

Ted Leo and the Pharmacists with Fat Boys.

Crushes

Patrickt: THE UNDEAD.

The Aquarium.

That Polyphonic Spree show with Cake.

And, if I've ever called you hotpants, I'm thankful for you, hotpants. You and your sweet sweet ass.

my heart is like a wheel

let me roll it, let me roll it to you.

today, I folded all the laundry and sorted my socks. Made 2 new loaves of zuccini bread (sans lemon peel). Read into the kind of freaky portion of Cool Hand Luke.

I've got until the 5th off, and I have a lot of school writing to do, but why write papers when you can shine all your shoes, right?

right.

I can read your eyes

Okay now. wait. what was it again?

seahawks game...saturday morningish....coffee and smoking and...right.

So Cake is busy explaining that because this is a must win game for Seattle- despite the fact that they havent won a game on the road yet- they will win against san francisco today.

and see, I just don't care. I listen, and I enjoy how animatedly others talk about it, but I just don't give a ball of snot.

but also, I love to argue about things that don't matter.

"But Cake," I said, "if we look at this as a scientific experiment, the experiment gives a consistent outcome whenever we add a specific variable. Today, that variable is added, so we can expect the experiment to turn out a certain way."

"But it's just not that simple, Sonya. A lot of things are going on here."

"Well? A lot of things weren't..." and then, I realized I didn't care. I didnt have enough information to argue any further, and I'd had the opportunity to make a smarmy argument. One smarmy shot was really all I had in me.

So I laid down on the floor and stuck my toes under the edge of the couch, crossed my arms over my chest, took a breath and started the ever-soothing set of lazy sit ups.

When I was on the floor, I was looking up at the plants and the grey light outside. When I was sitting upright, I was nodding at some kind of "aren't taking into account the fact that this is the shortest distance they've had to travel..."
and then, when I'm laying back on the floor, there's that big lush bundle of plants against the winter sky.
(When they get ready to do something, Cake whistles at the television. do you whistle at the television? I talk to babies on the television.)

When I was 15, I met a boy in an odds and ends shop where everything was openly sold on the haggling system.
He made a terrible come on having to do with a pair of white fringe boots and me responding with something like "That was a terrible come on. Go back and try again." at which point, he put out his hand and introduced himself.

Tiny Roomate and I sat with this boy and his friend in wobbly nogahide chairs ("Eighty Bucks!") for upwards of three hours while this nervous and erratic guy and a nervous and erratic I spat ideas back and forth. I refused to let them ride in the back of the toyota pickup I was driving at the time. The odd looking do-over-come-on boy looked at me like I had wings and was floating slightly above him. He didn't have a phone, so he gave me his address.

This would be the second time I would court a boy via the United States Postal Service.

My parents knew I was getting letters from a boy twice a week, but that was fine so long as I didn't see him without their permission.

And they knew he lived alone. When I was allowed to drive to the town 45 minutes away, I was allowed to go for walks alone with him but never to go up to his apartment. We were not to get in the car. "And I warn you," my father said, "don't get too attatched. I'm right on the verge of not liking this at all."

So we would spend entire September afternoons in his apartment, which had once been the garden room of an old mansion, so his bedroom had windows for ceiling and walls and was entirely draped in trees. He was liked to draw, and was pretty talented, but also so colorblind that he chose his pencils by looking at their place in the packet. He had a graph to show where every color was, and if they went back in the wrong order, he was fucked.
But the green that surrounded that apartment made it look like we were in some kind of secret hideout. There's nothing better in the world when you're fifteen than being secretly grownup.

It all fell apart within a little while, like these things do. Dad decided that it was just too odd, and I ran out of things to write. I still have all the letters, and I leaf through them when I reread the books I read during that time. Like the bibliography of a former self.

I sat up and laid down with my arms across my chest until I was warm and my muscles buzzed a little bit. Sometimes I'd sit up to watch some guy get clocked in instant replay. Sometimes I'd gaze into the plants and imagine photosynthesis.

He bent over me while I lay on the floor. "Aren't those plants great to look up at? It's nice to lay on the floor where you are."

"They're really nice." I replied. "Reminds me of something."

Trees and bushes and winter flowers

Paul made me a stamp that says 'BAD!' so that I can let people know what is bad.

Today, empty blank CD carousels, my knees, the water bill, and Cakes oranges are BAD!

Josh and Trixie let me make things out of leather and wire yesterday.

And that's what Christmas means to me.

when you were a tender and callow fellow

I love old things for having a million stories of a million real people. People who sat in this very room that are somehow connected, or somehow, not connected, to people who are in this room right now. But those people are long dead from influenza or overdose or heartbreak, and their bodies have been shipped off to decay in whatever way was chosen, taking their story with them. I like the underground buildings in Pioneer square and part of the ID best. Roasted with flame but not burnt clean, they're a string tied around your finger, reminding: Loggers. Prostitutes. Speakeasy. Sailors. Natives. Jazz.
And we all want our stories to be felt after we've been carted off. Not necessarily remembered, but sensed in the archways where we kissed our best kiss, wondered about in corner apartments where every one of those wax stains is gone but a part of our favorite song still creeps from a long gone turntable and a record that was broken by accident years and years ago.

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Hanukkah, Oh Wintertime, Oh Kwanza

I ordered my BabyJesusmas present from my parents today. I've got it worked out so that before christmas rolls around, I tell my dad what things I want, their respective prices, and how they would affect my life. Mom and dad choose the idea they like best and Dad gives me the money to buy it myself. I love it.
Mom still sends me a little package with a holiday CD, a ceramic something usually shaped like a puppy or a pair of shoes or a miniature blender, and jewelery from the discount bin. Which I usually listen to, dispose of, and wear the hell out of in the coming year, respectively.

So on December 23rd, a package containing my new airport card should arrive. I'm going to be so suprised on Jesusmas morning!

Like I am cinderella and math is my evil stepmother

An Ode to My Final

And lo, though you were eleven pages long, I galloped through you like a white knight atop a fine steed. Weilding my trusty TI-85, I sliced through your parabolas and vertexes.

Alas! What horror should befall me but Logarithms! Yes, Logarithms, whose ambling rules I desperately attempted to commit to memory, crept upon me like deaths chill. Though I fought with valor, points were laid to rest upon that battlefield.

So it was okay. I did, in fact, go home and throw up after working myself into an unnecessary lather. It's been a while since the last time the panic monster moved into my lungs and clenched my stomach up tight.

I had a little case of the shakes for all the rest of that night. Cake kept saying "It's over! What's wrong with you? It's done!", and I tried to explain.

I know it's done. I know there's nothing to be that upset about. That's not the point.

It's like when my mom starts coughing and can't stop until she throws up. Something triggers your body into doing something, and your body, for whatever reason, just keeps doing it well after the trigger is gone. Like a panic hangover, almost.
I made lentils and spinach in soy sauce for dinner, did a little self medicating, and went to bed.

This morning when I left the house to walk to work, the sun was shining and the sky was spotty blue. I felt my whole chest expand with relief, like I had just finished washing a million dishes and now I can go to the ball.

Blastoff!

Final exam in T minus 10...9...8...7...

I need to chew some gum or something because I think I'm gonna throw up.

Hot! New! Content!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you, MIKE PHAM!

Mister LuckyFIRST QUESTIONS: 1a: Do you have an arch nemesis?

The Fabulous Mike Pham

"Why, yes, I do have a nemesis! Can you believe that?!
I know. you're surprised. I would be to. I'm totally
not the sort to have an arch nemesis! But, alas, it's
true. My arch nemesis is a boy named Gary. He used to
be an intern at my work, and everytime he would pass
me I would stare him down like my mom stares down
pancakes (She really hates pancakes!) I've never
really had a conversation with him, and don't have any
real desire to, but the sound of his voice makes me
barf. Surprisingly enough, there arent that many
homosexuals out there that I don't like. Wait, that's
a lie! I hate the ones that have no fashion sense.
Like Gary.
He used to wear rags I wouldn't be caught dead in.
He does NOT look good in pink. I wish he would read
this, just so he knows how much I loathe him!
He thinks he's hot shit. But he ain't. And one day,
I'm going to destroy him.

My former arch nemesis was Jennifer Love Hewitt. I
actually DID destroy her, but it turns out she is a
robot, so she all morphed back into her android
self...just like in the movies!"

Mister LuckyAlright! Next First Question! How did you get so gotdang fashionable?

The Sharply Dressed Mister Pham
"Two words: Sugar. Daddy.

No. Really. My dad is a huge influence. Mainly, I do
everything I can to not dress like him [Which means,
wearing some dang pants! It took us forever to
convince him to put some on for my high school
graduation!] But he did give me my first pair of
pinstripe pants, to which I am very grateful.

Also, I attribute my fantastic style to Sugar, as it
keeps me awake during those all-nighters where I try
on all my clothes and carefully lay them out on my
bedroom floor for the next day. Sometimes, I will put
them on and lay under the covers [without moving, of
course! to avoid wrinkles!] waiting for the morning to
come! Wow, did I steal that from somewhere? Probably!
Plus, sugar is what I feed the gnomes I have in my
closet that work on my wardrobe around the clock.
Gnomes are the BEST! And they LOVE sugar!"

Mister Lucky Holy Crap! That was intense. Now for the short program. Please answer the following questions as quickly and entertainingly as possible. GO GO GO!

1: Catsup on Eggs is retarded!

2: Mike Pham has a secret crush on Mike Pham!_(really, he's
hott! But I have secret crushes like every day, so
stay tuned!)

3: Babies are generally eaten!

4: The last thing I voted for was to not pay the
phone bill!

5: What does your mom have against pancakes?
She dislikes how pancakes are so round!

6: Was Gary a gaymosexual? Also, What's up with
that guy, huh? Hey, I don't want to know! But if he
was, I don't want to be one! He's fucked!

7: How many pairs of pants does your dad have?
Two! One for lazin' and one for churchin'!

8: Would you rather have a lawn full of dogs or a
lawn full of ducks?
Don't make me choose!!

9: When it's your turn to sing at rock-a-roke, what
classic tune do you
choose? "What a Feeling" from Flashdance

10: Did you go to college? How'd it go? What do
you know about
Pre-Calculus?
I dropped out! I went to a fancy-schmancy-pants school
in new york. They made me pretend I was a tree! They
wouldn't let me take Pre-Calculus. But I took
Pre-Calculus in high school.

11: Is the Jade Pagoda possibly the dirtiest bar
you've ever seen? Would you lick a table top there
for 50 dollars?
Yes. and Yes.

12:and last, but certainly not least: Fight to the
death with a Zombie, or Fight to the death with a
Pirate?
Argh, a Pirate, matey!

Mister Lucky Give it up for Mike, ladies and gentlemen! He's Rad!

Exposed!

The jig is totally up.

Not that it was *really* a secret anyway, but it all played out in such a way as to make it look as though it was a big secret exposed.

Through a long chain of Laurel and Hardyish events, Cake was twice approached with the question, "So, are you 'cake'?". Both times, he decided to take it as some kind of straight guy come-on because he didn't know what the hell was going on. Paul used my favorite retreat method ever: Pretend like you're even weirder than you actually are so that people excuse any conversational anomolies.

We kicked the Howard Dean support party and the "Come on, you girls! Just kiss for a second!" campaign out around 3:30. Threw around some Cleanup-Lite, and went to bed.

The next morning (see: 2pm), he gives up on the 'Why're you hitting yourself?' game and says "So, 2 different people came up to me and asked me if I was 'Cake' last night."

"Yeeaaaaaahhhh. well..."

So now that Cake knows that he's Cake, we embark on what may or may not be a new journey. Can I relay our exploits with twist in accuracy without being corrected or exposed? Maybe. Lets just say this:

If he says anything that doesn't match up with what I said, he's a dirty, filthy liar.

the worst.

the worst thing about this job
is not the being nice.
being nice is not so hard.
the worst part is
when the doctor says "come here now"
you have to reply
"Let me see if I can get a temp, I'll call you back."

Now fellas, what's cooler than being cool?

I'm feeling mostly better today. Thank you for supporting me and my urinary tract health.

Went home at eleven yesterday to nurse my UT back to Not Painful Land in the only way I know how. By taking cranberry pills, watching PBS and cleaning the apartment in preparation for the party Tiny Roomate and I are throwing tonight.

SOME THINGS THAT HAPPENED YESTERDAY: A list.

1: I skipped the review session for my math class because I hadn't done the review sheets. I knocked my logarithms homework out in the morning at work, but the review sheets were cast off in favor of watching 'In Between The Lions', which is the greatest childrens show on television.
My final is on Tuesday.

2: I, um, redyed my hair. Its...

really, really blonde. Kind of space alien freaky blonde. Kind of not what I was going for. I've been getting compliments from scientists, but I worry that they're just following the "Compliment any hair changes" corporate rule. Tiny Roomate doesn't think it looks bad enough to skip work, which means it's not too terrible, because her standards are wildly high. I'm putting the final consulting decision in Cake's hands, oddly enough. He's the only one I can trust to say "Man, that looks like shit." should it, in reality, look like shit.

3: Liquor store, you are always staffed with nuts.
I bought 2 jumbo plastic jugs of booze. One of the nutso employees burst out in a made up song about how everybody was having parties that weekend, but not inviting liquor store employees. Old man liquor store made a crack about never bathing, which I don't think was true, but he had the wildest beard ever.

4: and dammit, everybody MUST be having parties this weekend, because when TR and I went to the grocer to pick up mixers and party foods, everything was well stocked except Tonic, Coke, limes, and plastic cups. Those items required that I stand on the cart to reach the back of the shelf. Also? No medium hot salsa. It makes me feel better that everyone else is also throwing their parties all chips and salsa and a bowl of M&M's style. Why yes, my bottle blonde head and I *would* like some chee-tohs.

5: An illuminating moment at the Mister Lucky/Tiny Roomate household:
Mister Lucky is picking records to play at the party tomorrow. Tiny Roomate is deciding whether to go to this DJ thing a guy she knows is playing at.

ML: "I can understand the appeal in being a DJ."

TR: "Totally. Girls want you. They're probably hot because they dance a lot. You get into clubs for free. You know about all the good parties...."

ML: "Um. I meant it would be appealing because you got to pick out records to play."

TR: "Oh. ..yeah, I guess that'd be alright."

So there now. You're invited to our party, Internet, so long as you don't get so drunk that I have to quarantine you in the water heater closet. I may already have one such problem on my hands in the form of a pastry we all know and care for. Oh Cake, please run around the block 20 or 30 times so you'll be too tired to get 'Bump Into Everything and Sing' drunk. I need you to feel good enough in the morning to help me move the furniture back.

Happy Birthday Fat Boy! Lets get ready to Look So Good!

A Haiku, with too much information.

you motherfucking
urinary tract disease
makes me want to die.

Has he taken any time?

Dear Math Test,

I'm not quite the daddy I thought I was because of some FOILing problems. Nonetheless, 87% is not too bad.

kind regards,

mister lucky

that's cool, but hey, don't be too unkind

I got in a little confrontation with a guy driving a big white van the other evening. Tiny Roomate and I were walking home after something, I can't remember what.
Anyway, we came up to the intersection before the guy got there, and as we stepped to the street, he pulled up so that his nose was in traffic and the crosswalk ran under his middle and his tail was back in theplace where his middle should have been. It happened pretty quickly, and I was a little startled, but mostly I was annoyed.
I flathand slapped the back of his van, and it must have been pretty loud, because after we'd turned sideways to get between the car bumpers, he leaned out the door, kind of in a panic, and said "WHAT? WHAT HAPPENED?"

--Let me just say here, that I know I was being stupid. I made a big deal out of a small thing. I could have just gone around, or waited, and things would have been fine. Keep this in mind for later.--

I said "You almost clipped us, and you're blocking the entire crosswalk."

"Don't touch my car."

and he drove away. Tiny roomate and I kept walking. I put my face in my hands and sighed. "I'm sorry man. I really didn't mean to do that, and it was stupid. I didn't...I didn't mean to do that."

She shrugged. "Living by yourself makes you a little crazy, I think."

"What do you mean? Like, the time I spent in the LaRoy, or..."

"No," she interrupted."Caring for yourself. Something definately changes."

Tiny Roomate is having her first living experience that is non-parent or college guided right now, so she's been a good eye opener for things that have happened to me in the past that are currently happening to her. Or things that happened to me over time that I had no way to gauge or judge, because I didn't know anyone else who'd gone through them in the last 5 years.

I think she brought up an interesting point. Since I've been the only one caring for me, the value I give my life has increased exponentially. The value of the lives of others has increased as well. It's much more important to me now to do things that make life better. To make existing easier.
(This is not to say that I don't still do crappy things to myself and others. I do. Do crappy things. All the time. But I'm working on being less crappy every day.)

And I don't know why it makes me so mad when people are just a little oblivious about courtesy.
I think it might be because I want to care for others, I want kindness to be easier, and every bit of kindness given back makes me feel not quite so alone. Not quite so prone to fall between the cracks.
I want it to be easy to be kind. It's only easy to be kind if everyone is doing it. Otherwise, it's nearly an act of God.

If you got to this point in the post, congratulations and apologies are in order. I don't know where i'm going with this. All I know is that I got mad at a guy for cutting me off in a crosswalk, and then I got mad at myself for being assy about it. And all the nouns could be replaced and it would be the same thing over and over again. (She got mad at a kid for cutting her off in the supermarket...you get my point. )

Sometimes I just wish I could go and turn every bit of barb wire into birthday cake.

take it easy or you'll hurt yourself

I'm making a mix tape for my older sister. It's become a bit of a chore trying to find songs in my Itunes that

1: Don't use curse words worse than Hell or Damn.

2: Aren't so indie that they're repulsive

3: Go together nicely.

This wouldn't be such a problem if each song only had to fit one of the criteria, but no, all three must apply to each item.

So far, the playlist is as follows:

1: Light and Day - Polyphonic Spree
2: God Only Knows -The Beach Boys
3: Motor Away - Guided By Voices
4: Lion's Mane - Iron and Wine
5: Wig in a Box - Hedwig and the Angry Inch
6: Such Great Heights - The Postal Service
7: Hard Life - Bonnie Prince Billy
8: Exercise - Clem Snide
9: Surrender - Cheap Trick
10: Thin Line - Jurassic 5
11: Come Back from San Francisco - The Magneti Fields
12: (eh, title unknown. Track 4. 'pull into the driveway of our, southwestern ranch style house...) - The Mountain Goats
13: Place to Be - Nick Drake
14: Do I Love You - Peggy Lee
15: Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying - Belle and Sebastian
16: Girl Inform Me - Shins
17: My Favourite Chords - The Weakerthans
18: Timorous Me - Ted Leo & The Pharmacists
19: Reservations - Wilco

If you see any items that are in glaring violation of the rules, please, let me know. I've used a lot of mix-tape favorites and old standards on this one, but I worry that my 'old standards' will be my sisters 'total crap'.

Tiny Roomate and I saw 'Brent or Brenda?' at the Rebar this Friday and it was totally great. I've been telling everybody about it. Friends. Strangers. Checkout clerks. Tiny Roomate. ("I know, Sonya. I was with you. Remember?")
The entire cast was kickass, but my lovely perma-fiance'e Benlau was a Total. Fucking. Star.

After the show, we hiked up the hill to Spin the Bottle. It was a good show overall, but a dark shadow was thrown over the whole thing by a heckler. He claimed raffle prizes he didn't actually win (Tiny Roomate won, actually. I hate that guy.), yelled at performers, and made a General Ass of himself. Know who saved the day? You bet, Josh Norton.

My friends are heroes.

is he rich? Is he rich like me?

Dear Math Test,

Who's Your Daddy? A pre-test-grade-recipient poll shows that Sonya Walker could very possibly be your Daddy. Sonya may very well have, how shall we put it? Well, in her own words, she may have "Knocked your shit clean out to the Ninth Degree, mutaf*****. I got your Domain and Range Right Here."

Tune in next week to see just who is who's daddy.

I'll take it anywhere you let me go

I'm mathing my ass off at the moment, so today's post will be thrown down list style.

Things I'm Into These Days

Cous cous with raw peppers and tomatoes

Sitting in the kitchen window and looking at the neighbors (somehow, I think this might be bad. The neighbors are more than a block away and they don't know I'm looking at them, and I never watch them do anything really private. Just wash their dishes and such. Tiny Roomate says it's not bad, but I'm not sure.)

Watching Antique Roadshow against everyones wishes.

York Peppermint Patties

Sweatshirt fabric

Going out and not drinking

Trying to catch the attention of drivers who've forgotten to turn their lights on with a little Jumping Hand Signal dance I made up.

Putting groups of people in order.
Say, from best dressed to worst dressed, or from entirely un-fucked up to totally and unreperably fucked up. (I put all of Cakes friends in order based on how much I like them. Today, my top 2 of his friends stopped by his work while we were on the phone. Cake set down the reciever and said "Guys! You won first and second prize! Sorry, Pat. You got second." Pat wants a recount.)

Spoon's 'Kill The Moonlight'.

Suggesting that Patrickt get a haircut before going to possibly meet the showgirl of his dreams.

Considering and rejecting methods to reintroduce pants into the wilderness of the wardrobe. (this has been a total failure. You wouldn't think it'd be this difficult, but all the clinical trials have resulted in terrible, terrible ensembles.)

Things I'm Not So Into These Days

Working

Letting my hair grow

Waking up at 3:00am and having a panic attack about a charity conference that doesn't actually exisit, and since when do I go to charity conferences, anyway?

Fox not coming in on my television

Taking midday naps

Getting sad and rollerskating around in a formal (but just you wait, buddy. Winter's barely going.)

You love it when we do math together.

Yay! Yay for you! Yay for math! Yay for you doing this math!
I sure as hell cant figure it.

Solve for X

I keep getting a quadratic equation that wont factor out.

long way home.

Did I say 30 pounds of frozen meat in a backpack as carry-on luggage? I meant 50. And a quart jar of honey (not to be mistaken for a flamable substance of similar viscosity) tucked in under my shoes.

Praise and Glory Be for Tiny Roomate, who met me at the bus stop with the radio flyer in tow. She and Francypants apparently had a Very Nice Time™ featuring 'Giant Bed in German Town', 'Purposeless Relatives', and 'Mud'.

Holy shit, I was happy to see her. Happy to see our apartment. Happy to smoke and eat frozen pizza with her and gabber together like geese.

"This outfit has been deemed Great by the Great Council on Greatness!"

Cake called a few hours later:

"Sonya Walker, have you ever been happier to be home in your entire life? Neither have I! Get your ass over here, I'll pick up dinner."

See, cakester spent his holiday time in Montana with mom dad brother sis-in-law neice and nephew. He tried to explain to me how it was hard because his nephew has on days and off days, like all kids.
I gently reminded him that I had just spent THE LAST 5 DAYS with my FIVE NEPHEWS, intermittently sprinkled with 3 neices and a nephew, age range 3yr to 16 yr. You want mood swings? I'll show YOU mood swings. They're all amazingly well-behaved, but come on, man. There are FIVE-to-NINE OF THEM. Somethings bound to give about every half hour.

So the reunion of tattoos and kneesocks was a joyful and rigorous one. I came bearing gifts of moose ground, deer backstrap steaks, and thermal underwear.
Cake came with green salad not from a bag, crisp apples, and hugs that didn't get play-doh stuck in my hair.

--Please, don't get me wrong. I'll take every play-doh handed hug and popsicle faced kiss you offer me. But there's something so comforting in the first touch after being away. I just wanted to smell his neck and smoosh his face between my palms and bite 'im on the arm. --

So, overall, I'm glad to be home. The trip was not at all what I expected, but my dad made me laugh so hard, and my mom sqeezed me so much, it was worth it. But I'm ready to get my concrete and streetlight on.