Wow...

So, it was like three months ago that I put up a post declaring my rebirth into the blogopshere, and since then, nothing. It took the reprimands of my close loved ones to get me a little focused.

"Bad blogger, naughty blogger, now go sit in the corner with your laptop and don't turn around until you have written something witty!" my mother said as she whipped me with a newspaper.

Ok, maybe it didn't quite go like that. Truth is, I sat down two months ago to write you all about what has been going on in my life but that post got so long and list-like that I forgot what I was doing and became distracted by something shinny.

So here is what happened to me in the last few months...

Some time before December 22: I get stupid drunk and snog with Photo Mike, which leads to us becoming "Us".

December 22: Tony wrecks his dads car after picking Rose and I up from the Sports Authority where we just bought wool socks for our snowboarding trip that next day. The impact broke two bones in my face, and broke my left ring finger in about ten different places. I still have not used my new board!

December 29Th: I have surgery to put my finger back together, and spend the next week or two lying in bed popping Vicodin and watching Vin Diesel movies. The surgery forces me to miss my New Years eve in New York watching the ball drop and drinking overpriced martinis at Manhattan's trendiest.

January: I think it's wise to acquire myself a cute little urinating poop factory we call Annabell, and consequently, I fall head over heads for my little pointer mix.

February: I get a huge tax return and buy a car. I'm not any good at this driving thing so wish me luck.

March: I have more surgery to remove some of the metal placed in my finger to hold the bits in place, more vicodin follows.

April 1st: I've recovered from the accident, aside from the lack of feeling in the top left side of my mouth, or the fact that my finger only bends sixty degrees. But if you can overlook all that, I guess you could say I'm recovered.

But more importantly, it's April fools day and no one has managed to pull a prank on me yet. Granted, I am huddled here in a corner keeping close watch out the window for AJ, or any of his little minions to come sneaking along.

P.S. Has anyone seen Google's April fools prank? Autopilot gmail, I love it!

Anyways, I guess now it's time to get back to real life. I've been sitting around the last three months recovering from this accident with little no more to do than google the names of every person I know that I've gotten so accustom to a little thing called sitting on my ass. Going back to work tomorrow is going to be tough on me, and my soft ass. Want to know what the most ironic thing about this whole situation is?

Next week I start my pre scheduled vacation.

But Popeye ate it.

Five year olds don't like creamed spinach.

Who knew?

Funny thing is the little sprout would rather eat plain boring spinach than creamed spinach. Call me crazy but, I figured if I toss some cream cheese and Parmesan cheese on it he would like it better.

But of course, I forget, he hates cheese. The mention of the "C" word makes him vomit in his mouth. Is it just me or isn't cheese a weird thing for kids to hate? And more so for mine because he is half Italian. Don't those people love cheese so much they sleep with a block of Parmesan, or is that just my ex-mother in law? I mean, they put it on everything else, so why not their pillow?

Or their spinach?

Hew, speaking of Italian, some guy on our plane Sunday threw up pizza. It was amazing how far he projected it, pizza vomit was everywhere. It hit the ceiling, the walls, even other passengers who then began to throw up themselves. You know how dominoes work? The first one knocks over the second, which then gets the third? Yeah, it was like that on a plane, except the dominoes were people, and instead of falling over they were throwing up.

We were delayed an hour while the airport crew cleaned it up. And what's even better is that because of this one guy vomiting and causing everyone else to vomit some big country star missed his connecting flight to some place. I think his name was Jack Green from the Grand Ol' Oprey, but hell if I know who he was.

I bet if pizza vomit guy knew he was going to make Jack Green miss his flight and have to sit in a plane that stunk like pizza vomit he might have reconsidered eating the whole pizza. But not me, I would have had two.

Speaking of celebrities, my co-flight attendant thinks we had one of the guys from Office Space on our plane, though I could never figuere out which guy it was. When it comes to celebrities, I really suck. I mean, as much as I love Vin Diesel, he could bend me over the chair and take me from behind while he recites lines from Chronicles of Riddick and I still wouldn't reconize him.

My sister is gone...

Can everyone say "Goodbye Mindy and Dan"?

How about a good 'ol Canadian "Eyh"?

If I wasn't so busy flying about the continent I might have a moment to miss her; that will just have to wait till I get home I suppose.

But really, my siblings and I have always been very close, geographically I mean. We never lived more than a few minutes apart, and I liked it that way. Even when I lived in the city, it was a short trek up or down the highway for a friendly hello, drink, joint, line of coke, ect... (I'm just kidding)

Mindy had to go and ruin that. She loaded up her shotgun, her snow pants, and plans for world domination. Oh, I almost forgot about her husband and the dog.

She took them as well.

but the worst so far was when they left.

We were all hugging goodbye, which I just happen not to do so well, and of course I teared up a bit. And what did my friends and family do?

Made fun of me, of course.

Don't blame them, blame their fathers for not hugging them enough as a kid. I most certainly do.

Pictionary made me do it...

I spent my evening last night playing a four hour game of Pictionary with twelve of my closest relatives. First, let me start by saying that sitting for four hours and doing any single activity with my relatives is just asking for it. There was so much yelling, and tension, and insanity going on around me I can still hear a ringing in my ears.

Second, my God fearing and wholesome uncle, the one I can't talk about vaginas in front of, was sitting across the table from me when I pulled an "all play" card that read "skeet."

Do you guys know what a skeet is? I didn't, at least not what the word really means. The only meaning of "skeet" that I know is the slang meaning which refers to ejaculation.

Long story short, I thought I was screwed. I mean, I had a serious moral dilemma. I could draw the image of what I knew "skeet" to mean, and risk an execution, or I could toss my turn.

What do you guys think I did?

I drew a stripper on a stripper pole, and a man with a handful watching her (in stick figure art of course).

And my partner got it on the second guess! Yeah, I'm good.

And the best part, my uncle did not freak out and banish me from his house.

Good call Tamy, good call.

Weenit's quote of the day...

As we were all sitting about the table with a few beers and discussing previous drunken mishaps, the topic of my sister's ability to always fall down the stairs when she is drunk came up.

And let me emphasize this special ability she has by saying that, if you are married and tend to often walk around with bruises covering your body, people do not believe you when you say you fell down the stairs.

But in my sister's case, it's the truth.

And somehow in the midst of our discussion my sister's husband said something that lit her fire and she proceeded to drunkenly threaten his physical well being.

His response to her threats of physical abuse was, "What are you going to do? Fall down the stairs at me?"