Really Terrible Pun

In honour of R.E.M.'s retirement announcement, I had a request to drink whatever Peter Buck was drinking the time he went crazy on a transatlantic flight.

I was a little disappointed to discover that the two sides of the story are this:

1. He drank a ridiculous amount of wine (14 refills according to airline staff), and/or
2. He drank a moderate amount of wine which must have reacted badly with the sleeping pill he had taken (according to his publicist).

My disappointment stemmed from the fact that drinking wine in combination with a sleep aid has been business as usual for me the last few Saturday nights.  On the bright side, it was very easy to comply.

In response to Sara's text the following morning, which I quote:  "So did you go 'buck wild' last night?", the answer is no.

I may have listened to Country Feedback several times over, and I may have rambled morosely about a need for a career change, but I did not:

1. Try to jam a CD into a beverage cart (or any other inappropriate place), believing the chosen receptacle to be a CD player;
2. Get into a yogurt fight with anyone (though I admit I have been in a yogurt fight before, and enjoyed every minute of it);
3. Hurl verbal abuse at any flight attendants (or other members of the service industry); or
4. Damage any cutlery.

Ho hum.

Jugs

My internet woes are happily resolved, but my general overwork is not.  I am starting to very much feel like a harrassed new mother who spends every moment from the time she gets up - early - until the time she goes to bed - late - thanklessly tending to the needs of other people.  I am not wrong in comparing certain co-workers of mine to whiny babies, but at least at this point, unlike new moms, no one is actually calling me and disrupting my sleep at 3:00 a.m.  My sleep, however, is disrupted all the same:  I have often found myself waking up in a panic wondering how I am possibly going to finish everything that I need to do the following day, resetting my alarm to an hour earlier, and finding it impossible to go back to sleep.  At least new mothers sometimes get to grab a quick nap in the middle of the day, and for that I envy them.  (I will get over my envy as soon as I can resume working 7 or 8 hour days like a normal person).

I have been consoling myself with jug drinkin'.  Which is pretty much how it sounds.  I get a 3 L jug of very cheap wine - I'm sure you've seen them - and sit around - preferably out front of someone's house - passing the jug around communally, slugging directly from it.  Which for whatever reason seems so much more right than drinking from a glass.

The twins are doing their own form of jug drinking, but happily, in their case, are not sucking it back directly from the source.  To my knowledge.  That would not at all seem right to me.

Circle of Life, Again

In the continued theme of sad news, I am sorry to report that the life of Chris and Sara's deaf and retarded orange cat (beloved deaf and retarded orange cat) has come to an end.  The situation sucks all around, but he was suffering a lot in his last few days, so in a way I guess it's better.  Poor Tweaker.  May he be eating at the same time as someone is brushing him somewhere in the sky.

Meanwhile, and coincidentally, a very tiny orange kitten has been adopted by a household in the burbs with which I am familiar.  He didn't seem like a Clint Eastwood or a Dennis Hopper, and so has been named Steve McQueen - but he doesn't have much of a personality at this point.  He has, however, proven multiple times that no, cats do NOT always land on their feet, a trait that he and the late Tweaker share. 

I expect Sara will have some suggestion re what I should drink at Tweak's memorial, which I imagine will take place as soon as the hellions stop crying long enough for such plans to be made.  If I can drink a quantity of Rickard's and put on a fake moustache for Jack Layton*, surely there is some appropriate way for me to honour the Leo-tard's memory.

In good and exciting news, I have unearthed my 1986 Yamaha keyboard, and found a power source for it, so that I can even turn it on.  Synthesized backbeats in varying musical styles have become the new soundtrack of my life.  Perhaps tonight calypso.  I'll be playing Jingle Bells and swilling Tom Collinses and Freixenet in no time at all.  Which backbeat to choose?

I know all too well that it has been a long time indeed since my last post, but don't hold it against me.  Besot with technical difficulties and several personal stressors.  Pity me. 

*Moustache was very itchy and I kept accidently soaking it with beer.  But I was kind of cute with it on anyway, and will be posting some photos in near future.  Maybe even tomorrow.