Flashing Lights, Lights, Lights

My big summer jamboree of traveliness was cancelled due to a very serious accident of Cousin Emily's Kitten, who is now on a feeding tube. I know that I have an inaccurate mental picture, but it was probably a small child who administered the medical procedures.
Hello, Kitty. Step into my playskool office. Say 'Ahhh' and I will shove this heart-shaped stethoscope into your windpipe.
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In the meantime, I am kicking up my heels tonight with Kanye West and his crew of merry musicmakers. Look for me. I'll be the one in the t-shirt and scarf.

Jail Is Very Likely Worse

I was annoyed to get a speeding ticket for $142.
However, I am beyond angry to discover that my ticket was increased to $284. Can somebody explain why that happened? Do I file an appeal?
When will I perfect self-teleporting so I can save on fuel and bad-choice costs?
[As a context-building sidenote: I wish I could get for you a sound clip of the phenomenally shitty music being pumped into this building. You guys, I am thisclose to the edge of the deep homicidal end. This is not helping like it promised to.]

The 90 to the 190 to the...THAT ONE. RIGHT THERE.

Muffin and I went on a last minute jaunt to Chicago this weekend to give a little kick in the pants to a friend who needed it. I ended up with an ass kicking of my own, in the form of a cold. Who gets a welcome-to-nice-weather sickness? Stupid people. Stupid people who are old enough to rent cars! BOOYA.
We didn't even die. And there weren't tolls. Everybody wins except the toll collector.
This tea tastes like a sandwich.
When we weren't resting, we were eating. And when we weren't eating, we were going to coffee shops. I ordered a red tea with pomegranate. I recommend not doing that. Something to try instead: Mojitea. Rumless, so there is no need to check IDs at the door of your Mojitea party. Mint tea, sparkling water, lime juice. Experiment with the ratio and let me know which is the most delicious. Could be 1:1:1. But that sounds like math, so I will be over here with the coloring books.

Ten Percent of Everything from Tokyo is Magic

I learned that at last night's show. Improv is educational!
I also found out, while sporting my Abraham Lincoln brooch, that I am not the only one who thinks he's a hottie. Yesssssss. This reminds me peripherally of the game we played at Old Chicago: Name As Many Past US Presidents As You Can Before Somebody [Probably Halsey] Says 'Ben Franklin'. We got pretty far.
Chocolate Chocolate Chip [On Your Shoulder]
Good for eating: an abandoned cookie. It's been in the refrigerator for at least two months. Which makes it viable for me and less offensive if somebody were to come looking for it. They'd have to say to, "Where's my @#$%ing cookie?!" and a minute later, "Hm. That was in there a long time. It probably wasn't even safe for me to eat."
I am a community servant.

Onwards and Upwards

I could throw up from relief. Now I don't have to wait for this card to grace my inbox.
I'm renewed for next year.
Ok.
Game on.

The Waiting Lame Or, When It's Sunny

Thanks for your support, Friends.
No new news about the school district's possible "reallocation of funds" that may result in my eventual breakdown and insurmountable credit card debt.
Obviously, I remain totally hopeful.

Cancel My Cards

There is a complex inverse relationship of shopping to impending doom.
Click on my sophisticated visual aid, brought to you by Microsoft Paint.

Radio Silence Over

Hi. I'm an in-law.
Carly got married last weekend, to the sounds of a string triptet (?) and Matt's relentless shutter.
So while Carly and Andrew sun themselves on the shores of Puerto Vallarta, I sit here on my exercise ball, reliving the "We Are Family" dance circle.
And the toast I made with only one tear.
And the arabesque my father took when he tripped over Carly's dress.
And the beautiful, elegant bride's calm smile.

Update: not triptet; trio.

Alternative Methodology

Thanks to Houch, Nicki had an ice cream birthday cake to celebrate her 25th. Thanks to Houch, we can't keep the freezer closed.

I Might Not Make a Ribbon Bouquet, but I Will Still Throw Down

My little sister Carly's getting hitched next weekend. Holy shit, you guys.
We took her out this weekend to get totally wasted on her own body's toxins. As in, topless.
After the massages, we each got all 20 of our nails done. Joyce, my technician gave me tips for my Maid of Honor speech. Her personal favorite: give keys to men all over the room and have them return the keys to Carly during dinner.
Get it? Get it, like my sister's a slut?
Listen up, Joyce: only I get to make that joke.