Oh God. This weekend.

Late planes, late nights.

Never has this phrase been more applicable:

"Those nights that turned into mornings, with those friends that turned into family."

♥

Thursday: Arrived late, had sushi with Mitchell and Lydia. Watched High Fidelity.

Friday: Bought a silo worth of alcohol, had coffee and cigarettes with Landon, bought shoes, looked at comics, had dinner, consumed silo of alcohol, jump-attacked Lydia and Tristan in bed, bought more alcohol, got drunker, watched Landon headsmash, wrangled Landon home, discussed many deep things, went to the water, went on Tangents [capitalized for emphasis, frequency, and our ability to come back to the point], went to the waterfront, went to the sauna, got locked out of the sauna, tried every wacky scheme we could to get in, sat in the elevator and pretended we were trapped, finally got let in by a woman coming home from the bar, went upstairs, smoked a last cigarette, went to bed watching Family Guy.

Saturday: Woke up and watched more Family Guy, visited Landon at work, bought books, got dinner, watched Ghost Town, began drinking second silo of alcohol, got fancied up, drew on glass walls, attended gala, won a Frilly Lily gift basket from a silent auction, Mitchell won 20 lbs of fudge [don't bother making jokes, we already made every single one of them], went to the gay bar, went to another gay bar, got super salty, came home, made a video about our saltiness, watched racially insensitive material, took more pictures, went to bed.

Sunday: [Original day of departure] Woke up at 9 a.m., went to Elbow Room, got sexually harassed and extremely drunk at breakfast, went back to the apartment, lounged, packed, went shopping, bought comics, watched Almost Famous, had sushi, missed flight, went to hotel, was salty, watched Family Channel, slept.

Monday: Hotel failed in waking me up, almost missed flight again, made flight, went home, showered, went to work.

Yes, I do always rule this much. Sexless marriages, polygamy, and photos to follow when I don't fail as much.

Mitchell says I don't blog enough, and since last night proved that I do whatever he tells me, here's a blog.

All my bags are packed; I'm ready to go.

Sarah is covering me, sort of, while I'm gone. This means I will no longer have to listen to my boss mumble under her breath. She does this all the time, talk to herself. I have an inner monologue, but it's inner. As in "No one else hears what I am saying to myself in my head."

She doesn't seem to get this concept.

I'm in Vancouver this weekend, where I shall remain whisk-less but protected by the fact that I'll be in a high-rise. If I were to be in a horror movie, though, it would be on Saturday Night when I'm at a gala in high heels that look wildly inappropriate for day to day life. Picture this:

I hold a glass of wine in my hand, laughing softly at some joke one of my companions has just made and I'm ready to engage in our patented witty repartee when all of a sudden, the lights go out. "It's just a breaker," someone calls out. "They'll have it fixed in a moment."

It'll rain, because it always rains. There might be thunder and lightning but probably not. Eventually, someone will try to leave because the dark makes people of all ages uncomfortable, whether they admit it or not. That's when they'll find the doors locked.

Me? I'm still frozen with my wine glass halfway to my lips. That's when the first scream erupts from somewhere on the outskirts of the crowd.

See? Horror movie waiting to happen. I'll ditch the heels and run like hell to the nearest window. I don't want to have to be in a sequel.

I can't remember the last time a serial killer stalked a gala, though. Maybe I'll be okay.

To Do To Day:

1. Stop at the bank
2. Stop at Shoe Store
3. Pack last-minute articles
4. Give you hell?

Post after this detailing exactly what I've been watching/listing to lately.

We're only here for one more night

My boss is so precious, guys. He's applying for Canadian citizenship because he's Irish and he was like "I think it's about time, don't you?" He said he's been here since 1982 and that makes him more Canadian than me. It does, man.

I'm very, very in love with How I Met Your Mother. How have I waited until now to discover this show? It's legen- Wait for it -dary.

I got invited to go to yet another boozelympics this weekend. Also:

YYC -> YYZ -> LGA
EWR -> ORD -> YYC
YYC -> YYZ -> LGA
LGA -> YYZ -> YYC

Check it, bitches. That's in May.

Next month is YYC -> YVR -> YYC

I used to think it was sad that I knew airport codes, but then I realized that other people are lame for not knowing them. In summary? I rock, you suck.

I finished my first book of January. I don't want to tell you what it was, but it was Sweet Valley High. I don't even care how badly these were written, it was good to read the flipside of the Sweet Valley Saga. I truly did want to know all about the magnificent Theo W. I've had this open all morning, I'm so lame.

Anyway. Everyone, watch How I Met Your Mother and we can all still be friends.