Point form, because real updating is a challenge.

• I went out to the country last night for my Aunt Cheryll's birthday. We played a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit, wherein I felt a drunken need to show off all of my film geekery by answering one question with, "No, no. While The Lost Boys WAS filmed in 1987, I believe the answer you're looking for is another 1987 film by the name of Dirty Dancing." But because I was slightly drunk this probably came out as "YOU'RE WILD! WILD!" in manner of Baby showcasing her beloved social retardation in the car, in that scene where her and Johnny Castle are driving to the lake to practice jumping.
• My grandfather, whom I love dearly and don't see enough of, was sharing a story about how he's fairly certain there's a Black Widow living in the Retirement Village. He also referred to himself several times as a "chick magnet", especially since he has wheels. When my Aunt Cheryll attempted to forcefeed him several cherry tarts ("If you give them to him, he'll eat them, Jamie." "He's not a puppy, mom.") my Grandpa commented that he could give them to the ladies.
• Mellers is here! Due to a heinous amount of busyness I've not had the chance to see her as much as I'd hoped. That should all be fixed after I'm finished editing my damn film / Ange's and mine rockumentary.
• Brad and I are looking for an apartment together. We've spent summers here together, and so have managed to handle the whole "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU LEFT THE MILK OUT, YOU FUCKER. I WILL NOW BLUDGEON YOU WITH THIS YARD SALE BARGAIN ROLLING PIN I BOUGHT THIS MORNING." aspect of roommates. Plus I can get rides to work with him, which will aid in my ageless battle against the Public Transit System. Not anything against them, I would just rather get from Point A to Point B in less than seventeen hours.
• That said, we still haven't found a place. But we're looking, Internet. We're looking. Unfortunately we need a place where we both have space (so as not to gouge each other's eyes out with shrimp forks of hostility and cageyness) and somewhere that's not a basement. After 9 years spent living in a basement, and 1 year upstairs with a giant window, one gets a bit of a taste for upper living. My giant bedroom window is like crack. When the spring air filters through the screen and fills the room I want to lift up my shirt sleeve and scream "JUST HOOK IT TO MY VEINS.

Labels: Family