1. last night i dreamed that the queen of england abdicated in my favour (and really, who can blame her?) and i started on the road to ruling a rather big bunch of people with bad teeth who overcook their veg. all this took place in a public washroom, of the kind typically seen in the creepy old gymnasiums of junior high schools built in the 1960's, none of which is in any way pertinent to the story at hand but it's my dream, damn it! i also was given a piece of parchment which my husband had to sign, agreeing to being a royal consort. i love my brain.
2. saturday night i went to my sister-in-law's birthday party and promptly did my usual routine of drinking my face off and talking unceasingly to anyone who would listen and quite a few who would not. the next day i did my usual routine of feeling like shit and kicking myself for the endless stream of chatter that alcohol invariably unleashes. i talked. i swore. i shared polish crotch nicknames with terrified canadians. to counter the hated and hypocritical "oh my gosh" movement, i coined the slogan "just say fuck" which, though much ruder, is at least refreshingly honest (my opinion, ok?), AND fun to say. sis-in-law promised to produce t-shirts, in an ultra feminine pink, with the slogan. want one? let me know. 20$. and it'll get you laid. no guarantees though. you still need to invest a bit of time in personal hygiene. and some antibiotics will clear up the sores in no time. but it might help.
3. tiles were laid in the basement of our new old house. i could say i did it. i could be a little more truthful and say that i helped. or, in the spirit of "just say fuck," i could be brutally honest and admit that i mostly stood around and occasionally passed little plastic crosses to my uncle. and made sure that the odd circumcised penis-shaped brown splotch on the tile* did not repeat too often, though i am sure that nobody else would have noticed the penisity of the splotch. now, of course, those of you who read this carefully and intently will want to come to my house and Seek The Penis. to you i say, come on down. anyhow, i don't believe, based on your comments, that any of you are careful or attentive readers. but that's ok, because this is the only opportunity i give you of being inattentive. normally at parties i back you up against the wall and talk at you, spitting occasionally in my overwhelming enthusiasm for my own hilariousness, until you pass out or manage to work your way to and out the door. but that's also ok. apparently i am interesting. my husband told me so. of course he might be biased. or mentally odd. he did marry me.
4. a parcel i mailed to a friend in chicago, containing a hand-painted (by moi) mirror has been stopped at the border. either the border bastards collect art, or they fear the subversive message contained therein. a parcel from same friend, on its way to me, is also missing, presumed eaten. the issues of national security are getting in the way of my life. here's a shout out to the american (and increasingly canadian) government: maybe if you stop acting like such mindnumbing pricks, the world will stop wanting to blow you up. just a thought.
*walking on weenies! hee hee!