Stream of Concsiousness - ATTACK

My roommate is getting married and today the house went on the market. It's so clean and organized and finally there are pictures on the walls. We have been walking in circles all night repeating out loud, "It's so cute! I can't believe we have to leave!"

At the moment, we are both in the "office" on our computers. She is looking at patterns for wedding dresses and I am looking on Craig's List, of course.

I am also a little drunk because I went to yoga and worked hard - so hard that I was really sweating. No one else was, just me. Now my legs are shaking because of all the "muscle energy" I used. Next week is "organic energy." Problem is, if you only use one, you feel a little offbalance. And then I came home and had a big ol' glass of chilled wine with my salmon dinner. To know me is to know I'm a lightweight drinker. I just had to retype that sentence 3 times. That's how happy drunk I am. I can't type and I'm helping to plan a wedding and we're in the midst of our last big snowstorm of the year -- and I just realized that I won't have a garage to park in anymore. Man, that's sad. I will miss that next winter when I have to park 3 blocks away in the middle of a snow emergency so that my car doesn't get towed.

The girl next door is very concerned about me. The sign went up today, well, it's leaning against a tree because the ground is frozen and hidden beneath 2 foot drifts. Amy was worried about where I would live. I think she'll miss me -- my wolf-girl neighbor.

There are some BAD wedding dresses out there. And they often look horrible on the couture models. They're absolute hangers -- those poor girls. They should eat. Hmmm, I'm hungry. I want an apple. And Gruyere cheese. And peanut butter. The real kind.

Ok, I'm back with apples and cheese and would you believe it, another glass of wine because it was there. And it goes so well with apples and cheese. yummy. Over the weekend I gave chair massages to the staff in the Emergency Room. I worked 9-12 pm Friday and was back at 6:30 am Sat. and there was a man yelling every 15 minutes, "Hey. HEY!!!! HELP!" and one of the nurses yelled out, "We love our belligerent drunk!" So funny. I thought I'd never stop laughing. I think I was a little over-tired. Also, to spare my thumbs, I was using my knuckles and medical uniforms are so rough, and I was rubbing my poor hands over them for 6 hours and now my knuckles are raw and sore and I have the hands of a scullery maid. I'm all out of neosporin, too. I love neosporin. It's a miracle worker. I love it almost as much as I love Nyquil.

When we went to Italy, I brought along neosporin and bandaids because I think that way. And it's a good thing, too, because Adub was determined to throw herself at the mercy of Triton on a day he felt it fit to stir up the sea and he spit her out against a craggy rock on which she sliced open her foot. As we walked along the path to one of the little towns that makes up Cinque Terre, she left a trail of blood.

I just saw Vernazza (sp?), one of those Cinque Terre villages, on a travel show. I think it was on Public Television. I love PBS. It makes me happy. I feel so smart when I watch it. Except for the days they ask for money because then I feel like a freeloader for watching it and not contributing money. I should really give money.

I used to keep a stash of money in a tea pot in my room. But I must have spent it all because it's empty now. I wonder what I spent it on?

Is it me that stinks or the cheese? It could be either, or both. Hey, if I put my nose in my wine glass, I can't smell bad smell anymore. And as long as nose is in wine glass, might as well drink.

Dear god, this is a long post! Post, in swedish, means mail. But I guess that's true in English, too. Sometimes, when I'm drunk, I speak in swedish. The Finnish, when they're drunk, which is quite often to be honest, speak really excellent English.

This one time, at Church camp, I got caught making out with the Lodge Master in the pantry/storeroom. It was during the sundae-making event and the cook came down for more peanuts and found us. The lodge master was also my boyfriend but he was staff and I was camper so that was "illegal" but so was smoking and we had a designated spot for that, too, cleverly called "smoker's rock." Creative kids, we were. I didn't smoke. But one time the BS-er (dad calls him that, short for Blood Sucker, because I came home from camp when I was 14 with a hicky thanks to him- not the same year as I was making out with Lodge Master. Really, I wasn't church camp slut) dropped chew in my eye. Oh, the pain.

Lodge master's family was very very poor and he had one pair of underwear and his shorts were cut-off jeans and he wore them every day that summer and they kept unraveling and getting shorter and shorter and shorter. They really got TOO short. Things were on display. One day I was helping him clean his room in the cabin and I found his underwear (his only pair) under his bed. From the looks of things, they'd been there awhile. So you see what I mean when I say things were "on display." He also never wore a shirt and was super tan and smelled like sweat and sun and sometimes like compost because, being lodge master, he was in charge of compost, but let's forget that detail because I said so.

Can you see why I wanted to go to church camp every year?

We went skinny-dipping with the boys. That lake is mighty cold - no real bottom - or it's a crater or something. Anyway, certain parts of boys don't like that cold water. They crawl up where it's warm and don't come back out for days. Poor boys.

I just found a typo in my Yoga Journal. Misuse of "there" as "their." This is becoming an epidemic!

Roommate is laughing at me. She says, "go to bed." Should probably take her advice.