In other news, I think Glee is the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Every time it’s on I wish it would never end. My only complaint about tonight’s edition was a) my Dad ((who’s usually asleep at this point)) scoffing and barking at me to check the Sox score and b) the lack of musical numbers. I mean, I guess there were a few numbers, but I’m so hungry for musical numbers, it’s nearly impossible to quench my thirst. I would like them to get to the point where there’s no dialogue, only music a la Rent. Super excited for Kristen Chenowith next week.

I couldn’t be more of a dork if you paid me money.

Please pay me money.

The moral of my television story is that it always seems to me that all of the shows I want to watch are on one night. Then I end up staying up until a billion o’clock watching live t.v. and then catching up on the stuff I missed on my DVR. It’s hard work, so hard in fact, that I can’t be bothered to blog about it. So there.

Obv I’d like to talk about NBC Thursday – it’s the tops. Unfortunately for me and lots of other people, 30 Rock won’t be premiering for a few weeks, but I can make do until then. I was genuinely looking forward to Weekend Update: Thursday – SNL of late has made me wish it was comprised solely of Digital Shorts and Weekend Update – so we’re half-way there, I guess. I find Seth Meyers delightful and who doesn’t like Amy Poehler? Dickbags, that’s who. My only criticism is that I wish they would focus only on Seth and Amy making fun of the news and not try to put in the B Team with those little skits and interview. Mostly they. are. lame.

Parks and Recreation was surprisingly really funny (I thought). I had, and still have, high hopes for this number. I’m hoping this episode is a taste of what’s to come. I mean, the episode started with Poehler rapping and entire verse from “Parents Just Don’t Understand”, love it. Also, I love gay-centric things, as this episode was. Keep it coming P&R, keep it coming. Me likey.

The Office is The Office. It’s good. It was good. It is good. It will be good. It’s like a grammar exercise in tenses. I have great loyalty to the original BBC version, but that aside – the show never fails to deliver. Poopball. That’s all I have to say.

Last in ye olde NBC lineup was Community. Um, it was okay. I mean, pilots have it tough because they have to cram in so much introductory nonsense that it can be hard to have an actual funny show. I’m holding judgement on this one. I think they just might need to build some steam. I mean, Chevy Chase? Come on. I have the hots for Joel McHale and am pumped about the character with Asberger’s Syndrome. I just love those little Assies.

Moving on, away from the NBC Thursday stranglehold, I popped over to Lifetime for some ProdgeRun. I don’t know, man. I just can’t get into it this season. I’m trying not to be judgy about the Lifetime switcheroo, but I can’t help it. I mean, Michael Kors has barely been involved and this episode was without Kors and Nina Garcia. I mean, what is that? Also, this cast blizows. Nobody is interesting or really even hate-able. The most interesting people were axed in the first two episodes. I don’t even remember the first girl’s name, but she looked like she based all of her designs/wardrobe choices like she was auditioning for a New Order video.

Then they got rid of Malvin, the crazy Asian dude who tried to put Rebecca Romijn in a maternity dress that was called “chicken and egg” or some garbage like that and literally looked like an egg coming out of a belly nest. Now all that’s left is that d-bag that looks like Bobby McFerrin except without the boopdeedoos. That’s really all I have to say about that right now.

Okay, so Thursday was also the premier of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia and again, this show I pretty much always find amusing and this is no exception. It’s birthed in me a secret crush on Danny DeVito, and that’s saying something because he’s a teeny person. And not just any teeny person, a hairy teeny person at that. My favorite part of this episode had little to do with the show itself and more to do with the fact that one of the “guest stars” (I use that term very loosely) was none other than Jennifer Blanc. All you need to know about her is that she starred as “Zanne” in the most awesome t.v. movie of all time, Friends Til The End, starring Shannen Doherty. She played a crazytrain who was obsessed with Shannen Doherty and stalked her because when they were like, 9 they were in a talent show together and Crazanne lost. Sad face. Best. Movie. Ever. To this day if I catch it on LMN i will watch it. No. Matter. What.

Okay, finally I’d like to talk about VH1 Divas Live. Really I don’t want to talk about it because it makes me want to throw up into a bowl, eat it, and then throw it up again. I actually took notes about this, extensive notes. I’ll spare you the details because by this point in the night I had downed about 7 glasses of wine and was feeling fiery. Some things I’d like to touch on briefly is that I wish Paula Abdul would lose her motor skills. Also, that MC SkatCat looks remarkably good for his age. But mostly what I’d like to say is, are these girls really divas? Most of them are American Idol alums, and not all winners, and a lot of them haven’t even been around for very long. Miley Cyrus? Really? Oops, I just threw up again. I think everyone knows how I feel about Kelly Clarkson, so I’ll leave her out of this. I don’t really dislike any of the other girls save for that little Hannah Twatface or whatever her name is. She sounds like a cat singing…with a Southern accent.  The artists that were doing duets with these girls were more Diva-y than they were. Cyndi Lauper, Sheryl Crow? I’m sure they liked playing second fiddle to teenagers. Awesome. Also, no big group number? What the gay is that? My most favorite part was that Adele only wore one dress through the whole show while everyone else had multiple costume changes. Such a diva. I mean, jeez. All I’d like to say in closing is this:

Dear VH1,

I’d like my two hours back. I’d like to be reimbursed doubly so for both Miley Cyrus performances and any part of the show featuring Paula Abdul. Also, why in God’s name did you have Liza frikking Minelli seated behind Ryan Kwanten and Sam Trammell from True Blood? It’s Liza Minelli!?! What kind of ass logic has allows you to place her in the second row at a show called “DIVAS”? It doesn’t make any sense. Also, again, I hate Miley Cyrus. Thank you and goodnight.

Thank God my whole night was saved by that Friends Til The End flashback I had. I’ve had “Can Anybody Hear Me?” stuck in my head all week.

I have a lengthy (and somewhat drunken) post yet to be created about tonights (thursday) tv explosion. NBC, prodge run, divas – Multiple throw ups await. Me promise.

So, where do I begin? At the beginning, I suppose. I like how right off the bat you’re just bombarded with “this girl’s fat” hints. If by hints one means getting bludgeoned over the head with lard slabs tethered to Amy Adam’s fiery red locks. Spaghetti, Dad? As if. Thai food? Me no think so. I’m so fat all I can eat are Kryptonite-infused puke shakes and that’s final. Also, they made a point of the Dad noticing the meteor rocks in the soil which he then completely ignored. If I saw my child skipping off to make a health shake out of vegetables pulled from sparkly, green soil, I might suggest a slim-fast, if that’s the route she insists on taking. Shake? Sure. Sparkle shakes? As good as that sounds in theory, I’ll have to pass.

Also, could they have found a more douche-ier looking dude to play the bully? That guys looked like a penis with legs wearing a gold chain and a hairstyle that was most obviously copied from Alex and Nicky Katsopolis. I half expected Aunt Becky to come around the corner, on her way home from Wake Up, San Fransisco, and scold Alex/Nicky for his remark. In fact, while I’m at it, Stephanie could have popped out with a meth pipe in one hand and said “how rude” – because even meth heads don’t treat people that way. Whale watching? Come on, she’s not even that big, which leads me to my next point.

I guess I can start off by saying that there would be no love lost with this girl if Hollywood, and/or Vancouver, decided to never use fat suits again. But, really, a fat suit? 168 pounds? Speaking as someone who has, in fact, weighed 168 pounds I am appalled. Even more so when she initially loses 19 pounds to 139 and still has a double chin and muffin top, even though she’s wearing the same outfit she had on at 168. I mean, come on. 168 pounds puts a girl at maybe a size 12 – which is still smaller than your average bear, and woman. I almost spit out the cookie dough I was eating in bed when she stepped on the scale. I don’t think they needed to specify her weight to get the point across that she dropped a few l.b.’s – when you put a number to it you automatically encourage pre-existing weight complexes in teenage (or late-twenties) ladies across the land. Bad move, Smallville, bad move.

My favorite parts of this scene are a) the Dido angst anthem in the background and b) the inexplicable lack of diarrhea. Seriously? She was in the bathroom anyways, where did all that weight go? Back to Krypton? Everybody knows what that gurgle in the belly means. It means you’re on a collision course with a shitsplosion. I mean, it looked like she had the sand worm from Beetlejuice twirling around in there. I wanted them to show a giant sand-worm poop coming out of her that had vagina teeth like the monster in Dreamcatcher. No such luck. It’s fine to humiliate a girl for being fat, but poop talk just plain crosses the line. Lame.

What you don’t get to see (and woe is you for that) is that later we, the collective viewer, find out that as a result of her lipo-shakes she develops an insatiable hunger that sends her on my dream binge. But, when that isn’t enough she turns to the next logical step…eating a deer. That’s right. Fatty eats a deer. She hits the deer with her car and in a ‘what the hell?’ sort of a moment nonchalantly detaches her jaw and sucks that Bambi dry. No bigs. Except that once she’s seen how great a deer is she naturally moves on to, you guessed it, Nicky Katsopolis. Talk about karma, man. Don’t make fun of fat people because they will literally eat you.

Of course everything gets solved and tidied by the end. It’s Kansas, people. But, I couldn’t help but be left with the image of my 17 year-old self, cowering in fear and self-doubt and waiting ever so patiently for someone to hook me up with some f’ing meteor shakes. I’ll eat you and I’ll eat you good.

I want to talk about something very serious. I was watching tv the other day (weird, I know) and happened across this gem and couldn’t help myself. By “couldn’t help myself” I mean I didn’t actually watch it per say, but I think the few minutes I saw were enough.

Ninja Cheerleaders.

It’s real. As in, a real movie – and I’m pretty sure it’s not a porno.

I dont really think I have to say much more than that. The trailer pretty much sums it up. Any movie featuring both George Takei AND Trishelle from Real World: Las Vegas has 4 stars written all over it. These girls, all in high school (right), juggle their time on the cheerleading squad with their after-school ninja practice while also working as exotic dancers to save money for…wait for it…Brown University. It doesn’t get any better.

I get it, classics are classics, but is it too much to ask for a little happiness and hope. No wonder I turned out to be such a bitch. But, now it’s gotten to the point where I don’t even want to read a book unless it makes me cry. What? Tears of joy, or course. Tears. Of. Joy.

It’s not just books, either. I can’t remember the last time I sat down to watch a movie that made me have to think. I totally used to get behind that sort of thing, back when I was more worried about people thinking I was hip and informed and cool. But now the downers on my Netflix queue are being constantly bumped for movies like Lost Boys: The Tribe and High School Musical 3.

I don’t know if it’s a product of where our society has headed in the last few years or if I’m finally losing my deep seeded, deeply hidden optimism and romanticism. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that, nearing 30, I’m a college dropout who lives with her parents and has been single for most of her adult life. These Prince Charming fantasies and flights of fancy can only take a girl so far, and perhaps so far is to 28.5 years old.

I don’t want to have to resort to only reading romance novels and watching whatever sort of movies the cast of Grey’s Anatomy happens to be putting out at the time. But, it seems that secretly, that’s really what I want to watch. Gone are the days when I could sit down with no problem through a 3 hour holocaust movie, or a heart-wrenching biopic. Now I’m all ABC Family, all the time. You give me a choice between watching Gran Torino or A Cinderella Story (1 or 2), chances are I’ll pick the latter. I’m not proud of it, the movie lover in me feels obligated to watch these critically acclaimed pieces, and guilty for not even giving them a chance. I find that if I do hunker down and allow one of these downers to the top of my queue, inevitably they sit on my DVD player for weeks at a time before I finally send them back, unwatched and wait impatiently for the next disc of Friday Night Lights.

I would like it if (because this feeling seems like it won’t be going away anytime soon) movie and bookstores would make sections called “Films/Books with Happy Endings” – or the “Feel Good Section”. Man, would I be in there! I want to feel good. I spend enough time feeling bad, I don’t need to add to it in my spare time.

So, please Jane Eyre, don’t do this to me. I’ve used up my tolerance for downer books in the first 28.5 years of my life. Now that I’m officially 28.5+. I fear you’re my last hope. If you don’t end in a way I find acceptable I may never read again and it’s all your fault. While I psych myself up to finish the rest of the story despite the downiness of it all, I’ll be watching Remember The Titans…again, and getting out some serious joy tears.

I’m just kidding, it’s garbage. But, it’s good garbage, like Glitter, or Honey, or more to the point, Cabin Fever.  It’s not bad garbage, like Good Luck Chuck, which I started to watch before AAWIP and had to turn off because, ew. I don’t know why I even tried, because I hate Dane Cook and Jessica Alba. I think I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t being petty in my hatred. I’m not. Anyhoo, werewolves, let’s do this.

Has anyone seen this? It really made me long for the late-nineties. I was laughing at my 16 year-old self for ever having a crush on Tom Everett Scott, because boy is he annoying and unlikable in this movie, I mean film. I guess he’s not even really that annoying, but the type of character a 16 year-old romantic nerd would have a crush on, and not a 28 year-old cynical bitch. The attraction just doesn’t translate. You know what does translate? The soundtrack features the song Mouth by Bush – and boy, was Gavin Rossdale hot back then, and boy is he still.

The basic plot of the movie is that Tom Everett Scott goes to France and falls in love with a Parisian Julie Delpy only to find out that she’s a werewolf who later turns him into a werewolf as well. He has these two buddies that travel with him in the film who are quite possibly the worst actors in the entire world. Luckily one of them gets eaten by a werewolf, so there’s that. I’m not quite sure what Julie Delpy was thinking in participating in this movie, I mean film again. I guess Im not especially familiar with her work, but I was under the impression that she had a bit more integrity. My only hope for her is that this was her first American film, yeah, film. Julie Bowen is also in this film. For those of you who don’t know who she is, look it up on imdb.com because I dislike her so much I can’t even get into her resume right now.( It would appear to the casual observer that I pick and choose random actors and actresses to abhor, but I don’t.) You should hate Julie Bowen, too. And if you don’t, then I hate you. She dies, too – so again, thank goodness for small miracles. This miracle being, an actress I hate being killed off in a really crappy movie (film).

There are really only two things you need to know about this movie. One, it opens and closes with really poorly special effecticized shots of characters bungee jumping off of national landmarks, being the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty. The reality of either of these things happening is one thing, my real problem is that in both instances the bungee cords are not tied off and are at the last minute grabbed and supported by Tom Everett Scott’s annoying friend, who supports the weight of both a bungee jumping Tom AND Julie Delpy. There’s a reason people do this off of steel bridges and things, because human beings just cant support that sort of weight. THIS is the most unrealistic part of the movie as far as I’m concerned.

Two, the best part of the movie, according to me, is when Delpy is explaining to Scott that he has been turned into a werewolf. To soften the blow, she tears off her shirt and places his hands on her breasts while she delivers the news which amounts basically to, “Im a werewolf and I bit you and now you’re a werewolf. The end.” It doesn’t sound as great as it is. But, the BEST part is that this happens twice, once in a dream and then once for real. When she comes in to tell him for real she finds him groping at the air while holding on to her dream breasts.

That’s right, dream breasts.

So, I like to take credit for other people’s funny stories and that is what’s about to happen right now. By that I mean that this story is completely first hand and what I said up there was completely hypothetical and there was really no need for me to mention it.

Everyone who knows me knows that I’m currently involved with a local Union en route to achieving my crane operators license. Since I’m still in school I do a lot of general construction work on an as needed basis. And while I am currently laid off I was asked to come in a few days ago to talk about the Union and demonstrate some of the equipment for some inner-city kids.  When I say kids I mean troubled 18, 19 and 20 year-olds. Throughout the day I encouraged the kids to ask questions as they came to them. One particular gentlemen raised his hand and asked, “so, the Union, they like, want you to work on the equipment?”…um, yes. “I mean, they don’t just like, want you walking around or whatever?”…um, no. A little while later, while showing the ‘kids’ the excavator the same little tyke raised his hand again. “Do you ever find anything down there?”…to which I responded that yes, we find different sorts of things like various soils, pipes, etc. “No, I mean like, do you ever find any treasure down there?”

The end.

Note: for most instances of “I”, please replace with “my brother-in-law”. As if I would be in a crane operators union. I’m all bulldozers, all the way.

Hey Oh!

I know, I know, where have I been? Well, the answer is, I’ve been no where, doing nothing. Eat it.

Actually, I have been up to a few things since last we met. I am a jet setter after all. Thats me, jet set, jet set…all over. In pop cultural news, there are a few things I’d like to touch on, and a few things I’d like to touch me. Other than that I have some familial anecdotes and other than that? Nothing. Moving on!

I went to see Harry Potter two weekends ago, which was an excellent movie eclipsed only by the fact that it was the first movie I’ve ever attended solo, and fitting at that because I was only slightly less self-conscious of what the tweens in the theater were thinking about lonely old me than I would be of full-blown adulties. Pretty much the only thing that I learned from this movie is that every time I think I can’t get any more attracted to adolescent wizards…BAM! Proved wrong again! HP movies make me mucho glad-o that I don’t have a wiener, because my wand would have been pointing north to Gryffindor tower allll night. But, seriously folks, it was great. I laughed, I cried, I had the equivalent of a female erection – fun for the whole family, or just female 20-something pervies, whichevs.

Last Tuesday evening I sauntered up to Salem to visit with Val for the night. It was pretty low-key. We went to dinner with Kerry and then met up with Erin afterwards and headed over to Val’s new place to drink beer and play 1980′s Disney Trivial Pursuit in the semi-darkness. Joy! I won (thank you, thank you) because, I think in an effort to speed the game up, Erin gave me a slow-pitch,  game-winning question about Bill Cosby. Like I’d get a Bill Cosby question wrong in the first place, but this one was particularly easy. I can’t remember it exactly because I was like, 9 beers in, but it was something like:

“What actor plays Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable on The Cosby Show?

P.S. the show is eponymous.

P.P.S. It rhymes with Shbill Shbosby.

P.P.P.S. It’s Bill Cosby”

In more earth shattering news, neither Erin nor Val knew how many blowholes a humpback whale has. I cringe. Two, people, two. I don’t know if I can be friends with them anymore. I teared up a little, but again, nine beers.

The best part of the night was when we got back to Val’s old apartment and Val was trying to give Erin directions home. She just kept saying “you turn around, and you drive…it’s really easy”, over and over again. Then she tried to draw a map and just kept crossing things out while I sat in the corner and wept with laughter/didn’t help at all.

The next day we went to the beach, even though it was cloudy and not at all beach weather. At the beach, highlights included me trying not to throw up in the sand AND this old couple who was sitting due west of us where the woman was continually asking the man what those ‘blue and white things’ were (seagulls) and complaining about how she couldn’t remember the last time they had bought chicken at the supermarket. Then God started crying over how much he loved Erin and Val, aka, it started to pour, so we left. Then I went home, through rush hour traffic, which I secretly love because it gives me plenty of time to play my favorite game, Car Concert… aka Traffic Idol aka Sing Like Your Trying To Attract A Mate, etc.

On Friday I went to Provincetown with my Mom and our neighbor. We took the ferry from Plymouth, which is always a delight. It smelled like high school summer job, but I got over it. I was kind of bummed my Dad didn’t go, because when he’s there I get to pretend it’s okay to drink cans of beer topside at 10 am on the way over. When he’s not there I have to wait until lunch time to drink. LAME. It was lovely as usual. I love it over theresies. I told my Mom I wanted to move there because everyone’s so nice. Then she started telling me I’d have the pick of the guys because all the gay guys are taken. I told her that her logic was a little flawed, and said I would move to Truro instead, because it’s right next door and maybe there’d be more single guys. Then I made a crack about her driving to Truro on a semi-regualr basis with the sole purpose of purchasing sesame seeds. Im serious. It’s only a 2 hour drive, nbd.

Pretty much the only striking thing I can recall is my Mom blatantly hitting on our waiter at lunch, who was, get this, gay. It was mildly embarrassing and mostly amusing. Every time he walked away my Mom and my neighbor talked about how cute he was. Then I had to explain to them what “a bear” was in the gay vernacular (the last time we were there was the first day of Bear Week). Then we left and the first few ‘post-lunch’ stores were a little touch and go because my Mom was mildly s-faced because I think she skipped breakfast. It was a welcome look to the future.

That was pretty much my last week. More to come!

Buckle your safety belts, people. You’re most likely in for a long one. One week’s worth of activities written out by a long-winded person isn’t as much fun as one might think. Also, if you are not interested in stories about my family, then skip ahead to…another webpage.

It all began on a hot, sticky Friday afternoon. It seems to me now that Jason and Wissa brought the sticky weather with them from whence they came. Pops and I drove down to Providence to retrieve them from the Amtrak Station. While I made it there without incident, Dad decided to commandeer the vehicle on the way home and got us lost for about 30 minutes in East Butt-F, Rhode Island. We ended up back near the train station because there were only entrances to 95 South and no entrances to 95 North because Rhode Island figures once they have you they can never let you go. Real funny, Ocean State, real funny. 

There was talk of a pizza outing on Friday night, but alas, twas all a trick. Instead we ended up hanging out on the deck under our brand new screened in gazeebo-jobbie with our neighbors, something which has never, ever happened before. What a delight it was! The screen let us pretend, if only for a moment, that there weren’t one thousand million bajillion frathousand mosquitos lurking ever so near. Early-ish to bed and party central in the morning.

And boy, do I mean morning. Jason had the super-cute idea to tell people on the email invite that the party started at 8 a.m. Saturday and went until 11 p.m. Sunday night. So my Aunt and cousins show up around 9-ish while my parents are out erranding and Jason, Melissa and I are still in bed. Huzzah! No prob.

All in all it turned out to be a super day, albeit extremely unpleasant in the sweat department. At least for me. 

Some highlights include: Obviously, people showing up at 9, drinking, meatballs, mysterious Asian salad dressing, Ben schooling Megan on the removable thumb trick, Karen schooling us all in hula-hooping, Matt confessing his love to Jill, prompting her to leave immediately, Matt challenging Lindsay to a push-up contest only to forfeit after seeing her complete 51 push-ups, our neighbor’s youngest son doing karaoke, pretty much anyone doing karaoke, Matt and Melissa trying to set up a 10 person tent at 3 in the morning that nobody was going to sleep in…also drinking and meatballs again, for good measure.

We’ve never really had a party at my parents house so I can easily say it was at least in the top ten. Jason and Melissa left for Maine the next morning and I sweat. A lot.

They came back Tuesday and we cashed our raincheck for the previous Friday’s pizza outing. Afterward everyone was tired so we didn’t do anything cool and it was lame. But, then Wednesday we awesomed it up. Melissa and I spent a good deal of time figuring out how to set up video chat on our computers so we can talk to them when they’re on Mars. Then we went out for 4,200 lbs. of fried seafood and light beer and it was delish! Then we saw two of the most delightful pieces of grafitti I’ve ever seen on none other than the jetty in Plymouth Harbor.

That’s right, it says ‘meniscus’ with a heart dotting the ‘i’. I want very much to know the people who made these. We also saw lots of rocks vowing undying love between Julie and Jimmy, but that was dumb and I don’t want to know Julie and Jimmy. So, there.

Then we went off to Meg and Matt’s and had a few cocktails before venturing down to Nantasket for some tomfoolery. We tried to go to dinner at this place that overlooked the beach, but the menus were sticky and included foot-long hot dogs, so we went to Saporito’s instead. It was delicious and full of vino. Just the way I, or any other person I want to associate with, like it. Then we went home for more cocktails and board games on the balcony. I finally got them to play Cranium Pop 5 after like, 3 years of fruitless effort. Boobs and tubes beat C’s and B’s and that’s all you need to know. Then we played Apples to Apples and as usual, Jason ruined everything by saying things like ‘losing your job’ is ‘relaxing’. They should rename the game Apples to Assholes. But seriously, love ya bro!

Thursday was all about hangovers and more delicious food. Jason made a diesel bouillabaisse (that’s right, Diesel, like Vinnie) and we had some oysters which Elin politely stuck her finger in before we ate them to make sure they were okay. Jason let me hold his camera which I took to mean ‘hey, have this really fancy camera and take a thousand pictures with it and then cry yourself to sleep when you have to go back to your own shitty camera’. Then I totally nailed the evening by having a mild panic attack and excusing myself to the porch. By excusing myself I mostly mean I just got up and went out there. This girl gets serious fun overloads in her old age. I tried to use it to my advantage by telling my Mom that Jason said I could have his camera if it would make me feel better – but it didn’t work. Bummed out, population: me.

Friday Jason, Wiss and I went to Smushi Joy for some smushi. Smushi is code for sushi. On both counts. We ordered so much they gave us a smushi motorboat. Okay, so it was more like a lovely gondola, just let me have my dream. If it were really my dream it would have come inside of a whale whose mouth you’d have to climb inside to retrieve your smushi. That night we did more deck cocktails and I went to bed at like, 10 because I’m a loser and had completely overdosed on fun and meatballs at this point.

Mom and I took the travelers off for more traveling on Saturday morning and I had a metaphorical sad face all day. The good news is I drove both ways this time, so we didn’t wind up in Scarytown, RI again. I didn’t even know Rhode Island had a Scarytown, but they do. So, now Jason and Melissa live in Germany and I still live with my parents. My local family count went up and then down again in a short period of time and now I have jet lag.

In closing, to J-Rock and the Good Doctor I say: Enjoy the schnitzel and German Shepherds, we’ll misses yous! I promise to learn the German words for brother and sister-in-law, but will never change this posts title. Oh! Schnitzel to your dome!