Forced Merriment

Am I the only one that finds the pressure to have The Time Of Your Life Baby! on New Years Eve totally tired? Don't get me wrong--I love to drink Champagne and streak the beach as much as the next person, but the fuss grosses me out. I've had a handful of good NYE experiences in my entire life, and most of them occurred on accident.

For example, once I went to a random club with my friend Liz and her brother where dollar bills fell from the ceiling at midnight and we stuffed money down our shirts. We bought rounds with it later. That kind of thing you just can't plan. Maybe I'm just getting older. I'm not sure what that means other than the fact that my liver can't take as much well whiskey as it used to.

So, this year should be a good one: heading to the beach with E and friends for the night. No stress about fighting the hoards to find the perfect bar choked with the perfect amount of hipsters for the place to qualify as a good time. Even typing that made me feel old. Maybe it's the Fleetwood Mac blasting at the cafe I'm sitting in? When I go to the restroom will my underwear be replaced with acrylic granny panties?

2010 should be a good one.

Claymation Nation

So this week....

1) Car was viciously gang-pooped by a bunch of angry crows and now looks like a blue leper or a leopard.
2) My boss's boss told me that the same guys that made that old-school claymation Rudolph movie made another one about
elves bringing snow to a sad kid in L.A., starring Hotmiser and Coldmiser, the two feuding children of Mother Nature. Check it out y'all: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NRLzZBxqv68.
3) Learned that E might be the only man on the planet who can dirty dance successfully to old Pearl Jam tracks.
4) Almost ran over a flock of birds on a freeway exit on the way to work at 7:45am. That's way to early to hit a bird.
5) It was brought to my attention that French Bulldogs can't screw like other dogs can. True story.
6) Discovered the Jaguar Research Center in Brazil and am planning a summer trip to see aforementioned Jaguars and then write a self-referential chapbook titled "Seeing Spots" where I'll make jokes about being drunk and plug for rainforest prez.
7) Realized hair is turning a funny color.
8) Drank a beer called Blitzen and felt tres seasonal.

Domestic Bliss

"While your ancestors were playing the bagpipes, my Viking ancestors were killing all your women," E said, while we tried to pick out our 3rd and hopefully final mattress pad at Bed Bath & Beyond out in outter SE Portland after returning our 1st and 2nd mattress pad at B3 and Target minutes before. I love it when he says shit like that. This is what I call Domestic Bliss: buying shit, then returning it while trading witty historical quips and the occasional dry hump in the retail aisle.

In fact, we (as in "E") return sh*t a lot. He's made it into a kind of art. One in Three purchases go back, with the exception of food and booze. We take care of that quick-like, being descended from whiskey-drinking, cattle-stealing Scotsman and vodka-swilling, Swedish horn-wearing rowers.

When in stores like B3, I handle a lot of product. The sparkly candles, cheap towels, the vibrating "massagers". E thought about buying a Man Groomer electric razor. I kind of lost myself and started pricing Pez dispensers and "Easy Crack" ice-trays. Is this what it means to be modestly successful? I think the days of bumming cigarettes and 3-buck Chuck were purer. I'm hoping we won't be back tomorrow, hung over, returning our mattress pad. Again.