Remember when this is what Blackberry meant?

So the weekend is over and both my liver and my boyfriend have survived. We started off with a fantastic bbq at my uncle Darcy’s place with relatives galore. My father couldn’t make it but there were more than enough of the rest of them to incite a little shock and horror in Steve. However, given that my families favorite “aromatic cigarette” was there in abundance, the stories were mellow, there was much laughter, and none of the usual threats of bodily violence should Steve turn out to be a less than stand up kinda guy. I learned a few things that night…… My step sister Shannon should not do whiskey shooters and my uncle Dale’s new fangled wheelchair means that I cannot pull off the wheelies that I once did with such ease- in fact, had Steve not had the forethought to stand behind the chair there would have undoubtedly been some type of head trauma or hospital visit- an occurrence not entirely uncommon when my family gets together.

Saturday was my little Ckenzie’s wedding and I must say that even with all the mention of God it was a beautiful affair and made even more so when Steve and I didn’t immediately burst into flames upon entering the house of God. I had honestly expected at least a rash or deafening clap of thunder. Ckenzie was a truly beautiful bride and I beamed with all of the pride of a pretend mother. Given both of the grooms parents had recently remarried and all four were in attendance, there was the inevitable awkward bathroom conversation about who had the better speech and who had more right to be there. Ah…. It’s amazing the things that people will tell a stranger after a few drinks and one only slightly inappropriate lifting up your dress dances to the theme to Pulp Fiction.

The highlight for Steve and I was definitely the entrance of one of the many guests. We looked in awe as she entered the room and I immediately set about trying to covertly take a shot of her to show you that “Sparkle Barbie” really does exist. In fact “Sparkle Barbie” was seated at our table so I can say with complete accuracy that her accessories include 3 inch purple sparkly heels, a cell phone and a camera. Her time was equally divided between talking on her phone and having her friend take pictures of her posed with a drink, sweeping back her hair, or trying to stand like Paris Hilton. It was fucking fantastic. We didn’t get home until just before 3 am after an amusing ride home with my ex Mark (Ckenzie’s father obviously) and his girlfriend in their vegetable oil burning car. With the sketch navigation and ridiculous laughter I am still extremely surprised that we found Darcy’s house.

They have to be shitting their pants right now. In fact- the whole industry is most likely shitting their pants because we all know that Obama has to do something big. He has to take steps to ensure this doesn’t become “Obama’s Katrina”. (Yes- comparing the two is completely ridiculous, however, in response time……….. uhm.)

So this is how I see it. The flame is slowly moving from BP towards the government. People hate BP- they hate them with the fire of a thousand suns- but because the government has continued to let BP “handle it” and continue to fumble it, Obama is going to start taking a lot of fucking heat.  This being said- Obama is going to have to make some sweeping changes and some major moves to the oil industry to ensure that this doesn’t blow up in his face. I’m pretty sure that’s where this whole “they may face criminal charges” thing stems from. I think we’re all well aware that this will never happen (civil suits? yes. Criminal- I seriously fucking doubt it) but it makes it sound as though action is being taken while they scramble to figure out an actual action to take.

Hence the whole oil industry starting to shit it’s pants. This is no longer a BP problem. They will all have to deal with Obama’s response to this disaster.

And they won’t like it.

On the up side- it’s keeping the shit scene that is Israel right now off of most front pages.

Holy hell…… nobody fucks shit up like we “higher beings” do huh?

There are times when people share too much information and make you shift and rock on your heels uncomfortably. This might be one of those times.

#1- I once peed my pants on the way from a hostel to the train station in a small village in Switzerland.

#2- Despite their perky disposition I have never named my breasts. I have recently discovered that many women do this and I find it odd.

#3- I regularly have dreams about the end of the world as we know it.

#4 - On my 23rd birthday I drank 21 sambucca shooters, alternating black and white. I couldn’t manage the the last 2. I did not puke.

#5- On my 32nd birthday while drinking in a bar in Germany a random and very drunk young US soldier came over and bit me on the shoulder hard enough to require a tetanus shot and leave a scar. I punched him in the face.

#6- I once made a tower of Russian Roulette shooters and lit them on fire in some random bar in London. I did this topless because I apparently cannot turn down a good dare.

#7-I am genuinely freaked out by clowns and I genuinely think that they are all pedophiles.

#8- I have watched 2 people die and once had to identify a friend in the morgue which is far less glamorous than CSI Miami makes it out to be.

#9- I cannot blow my nose in public. No matter what.

#10- I would be a total chain smoking alcoholic if it were socially acceptable.

#11- I once made a girl eat dog shit.

#12- While randomly hitchhiking around town with Susin as a teen, a creepy weird old biker dude offered us a 6 pack of black label and then leaned over and pinched my nipple. EWWWWWWW! it still makes me shiver.

#13- I fucking hate whiners. I hate them so hard that I have to forcibly stop myself from stabbing them.

#14- If I had to to protect myself or my loved ones, I could easily kill someone. No question.

#15- I once had a threesome with an ex & a really HOT female friend.

So Nigel has a new home in the country as of Friday and I am not ashamed to say that I cried. I also spent the rest of the evening sending her text messages containing vital information such as how much water he likes to drink, when he last ate, and when she can expect him to poo next.

Yes. I am that person.

Also, this is what has become of my long weekend lounging on the beach in the hot sun.

It’s Friday of the May long weekend.

Hallafuckingluya.

Oh, and I have left over Chinese take out for lunch today.

Does it get better than that? Really, Does it? I don’t think so, amigo.

It’s going to be hot here and I intend to spend a large portion of the weekend laying prone on a quite strip of beach while the dogs roll in the sand and goose shit. Despite my best efforts to towel them off upon return home they will manage to keep a nice slimy wad of goose crap hidden from me and will merrily  wipe some of it on the couch and throw rugs. Afterwords they will look proud of their offerings. I get why dogs do this and I get why cats drag in dead mice and birds- really, I get it- it’s a gift. Can’t we somehow teach these little fuckers to colour or make clay ashtrays? Why do their prezzies always have to smell like death and lumpy yogurt? Or like the one time that Maggi rolled in a giant pile of vomit in the park. Human vomit. With carrots and what looked like maybe enchiladas? Yeah, that was nice.

We still have our little homeless old man Nigel. It will be a week tomorrow and not one single personal has called me, the spca, or the pound. No one is looking for him. I hate the owners of this little dog with the fire of a thousand suns. Unless it’s an old person who had a medical emergency and he escaped during the ambulance chaos. Then I don’t hate them with any suns. In fact, I kind of have to assume they’re dead. RIP former owners of the dog now called Nigel, I will make sure he is safe & loved.

I have to go eat the left over Chinese in my lunch now. Never mind that it’s 9:21am. When spicy Mongolian beef calls your name, you answer motherfucker!

I know that when I woke up yesterday we only had 2 dogs. Yet somehow as of yesterday afternoon, we have 3.

Mini black schnauzers aren’t all that common and everyone in my hood knows we have one due to our multiple daily walks and the fact that Maggi strolls without a leash, knows the “wait” command at street crossings and is just all around fucking adorable. So someone found one a few blocks away and assumed it was ours- given that we weren’t home, my neighbor 2 doors down took it until we got back. Needless to say- it wasn’t Maggi. He’s ancient, very wobbly in the back legs and hips, has obvious cataracts, needs to be carried up and down the stairs but is sweet and friendly and loves a good scratch under the chin. He’s beautifully groomed so I have to assume that he is lost rather than abandoned- despite his obvious medical problems, people who have their dogs professionally groomed don’t strike me as the type to abandon them. I’ve posted fliers everywhere and both Maggi & Lucy are putting up with their new guest quite well but he spends most of the day looking hopefully out the front screen. He clearly just wants to go home. We’ve named him Nigel.