My lost backpack has turned up on the other side of town from where it was stolen, at a swimming pool. My first call of the new year was from a vaguely latino sounding woman calling to give me the good news. May the good lord bless the "in case of loss, please return to" section at the front of moleskin notebooks.
The only arguments that went down in my house this Christmas were about whether or not my grandma was justified in hitting my dad and his brothers when they were growing up. My dad thinks it was justified as his brotherhood got up to all kinds of shenanigans growing up. Apparently my uncle used to forge cheques from my grandmother to be cashed at the grocery store. Now he is a business adviser.
New Years was pretty hilarious. This dude wearing a bike helmet showed up at the part I was at and cornered me, insisting that "it's ok to be turned on by a guy at a party" and that he was just "the idiot in the hard hat" This made me laugh hysterically and unfortunately he took this as encouragement. Later that night he found possibly the only lesbian at the party, screamed at her that he loved her and proceeded to throw up on the carpet behind the door to the living room. He was blamed for eating the drummer in the band's JBC (Junior Bacon Cheese), of which he left about two bites of a corner before scramming. The drummer literally ran around the party yelling "JBC!" at everyone for about half an hour. The house that we were in was this really old Edwardian boarding house style thing with the creepiest horror movie basement, complete with what is affectionately called the Rape Room. Apparently the hosts were giving a tour of the house sometime before I arrived and opened the door of the RR only to find two people having sex on the orange shag carpet in there. No furniture.
