January 8th, 2004

sga - sparktober

things that happened

My trip to Canada (because I know you care, in great detail), in telegraphic form:

Drove to Canada. Snow. Snain. Sleet. Other crappy weather phenomenon beginning with *s* and *r* and *f.r.* which can stand for "freezing rain" or "fucking rain" at your discretion.

Border crossing (at which I hid my green hair underneath my sweater):

Border Crossing Official: So... you going to Canada, eh?
Me: Yep.
Border Crossing Official: Uh... neat. Okay, go on through.

Survival of 401 and Don Valley Parkway in turn. Arrived chez cousins. Present: Two of my Staunch Canadian Baptist Cousins, and one Staunch Canadian Baptist Cousin's Wife. As a sidebar, I happen to *adore* these cousins, and wanted to sneak into their car at a family picnic and be adopted by their minister father and minister's-wife mother (for those of you who thought that Minister's Wife was only an acceptable career path on 7th Heaven, think again) since I was about 3. However, I was a lot less slutty when I was 3 than I am now. Awkward moment. Awkward moment. I vow not to open my mouth at family functions anymore, only to nod knowingly when they talk about things like "chaperones" as an acceptable accessory to one's dates when one is already engaged. Embarrassing "Muppet Movies" anecdote about my childhood brought up again, as it is EVERY TIME there is an encounter with that side of the family, because apparently I have done NOTHING in my life worth mentioning since mistakenly referring to home reel-to-reel movies of my mother's siblings as children as "Muppet Movies" at the ignorant age of 4. It's an honest mistake, guys.

Next day. New Year's Eve. Relocate to chez cat_b. Sidebar: She and I were best friends at the respective ages of 3 and 4, and thought we were the coolest things since neon legwarmers (it was 1986, after all). Much cardboard-box-rocket-ship-building and secret-spy-club-forming and dancing around the living room pretending to be cast in a live-action version of The Little Mermaid ensued.

Traditional New Year's Eve Fondue Party. I am a recurring hanger-on to Cat's group of friends, and so know some of them, most notably liane1 who I'm told also, at one time, believed she was from another planet. Meet new people. Traipse to bar. Bar sucks, and while everyone else is dressed fairly sedately and could fit in, Cat and I are dressed to club the heck out of somewhere and so feel a little... exposed among the middle-age dinner folk. Traipse to new bar, complete with dance floor and flock of underage American boys come to Canada to legally drink in the New Year.

Operation Ass, Part the First: We, being me, as the Bringer of What Can Really Barely Be Called Sketch, decide to liven up the joint, and this results in me actually getting my picture taken for dancing with various people. If anyone finds photos of me on the internet, please let me know. I get mocked by Cat's friends for mauling some guy (don't know his name, but alas, I lost that purity point long ago) when the ball dropped. I get Cat mocked by her friends by getting her and one of the underage Americans to maul each other from then until Last Call. Unfortunate drunken reminiscing begins on the part of one of Cat's friends, who knows me best as the fourteen year old American girl who said quite a few lewd things over the phone to a former member of their crew, and I am forced to confess that, at the time, I didn't really know what promising to dip someone in chocolate and lick it off actually meant, I was only quoting things that a middle-school boyfriend of mine had instructed me to say to his friends over the phone.

New Year's Resolutions:
1) Like cat_b, don't be an asshead.
2) Keep track of my finances. This "I have money! Yay!" "I don't have money! Crap!" system I have going, while effective in a black-and-white sort of way, is so 2003. To this end, I made a trip to Staples and bought a number of new toys including, in an unrelated burst of office-supply-induced-orgasmia, colour-coded hanging files and file folders.
3) Eat. Sleep. Do other things to avert any and all forms of adjective-mono-of-death.

At this point, we lose at least a day and a half to a spatial vortex of laziness, which will hopefully not be an indication of what 2004 will look like. At some point I'll post my answers to that 2003 redux quiz that Cat and I did off of meg_tdj, but this post is long and tedious enough as it is. Purchase of at least $70 Canadian of shoes, and feel more like a woman than I have in years. Then, Cat and Li and I turn down clubbing to sit around and knit. Yes, we are *still* the coolest thing since neon leggings.

Enter Seth, stage right. Hockey Hall of Fame. Attempt to scalp tickets to the Maple Leafs game. Fail to do so. Rendezvous with crew in sports bar. For the record, sports bars are SO FREAKING AMAZING and I need to find a good one in Providence, STAT. Leafs and Sabres TIE, which prompts a great deal of ranting on everyone's part about how The Greatest Organized Sport Ever can be so screwed up as to allow TIES all over the damned place, like this is a farm team sporting league and everybody needs to get home for dinner or something. Awkward goodbye. After the traditional whining with friends and self-loathing, once again resolve not to be wishywashy anymore about the whole Seth debacle (*note: that's not a New Year's Resolution tm. That's just an everyday resolution). Wander around downtown till legs fall off with Toronto Crew. Non-awkward goodbye. Exeunt.

Return trip. Winter Storm Warning. No precipitation anywhere. Border crossing:

Border Crossing Official: GLEEE? (*note: that's what my license plate says)
Me: Uh... yes?
Border Crossing Official: (looks suspicious)Usually those things have something to do with your name. (checks passport, looks more suspicious, like his special Customs And Immigration X-Ray Vision allows him to magically see my green hair through my sweater)
Me: Er, no. Just glee.
Border Crossing Official: What's that about, then?
Me: (decides not to explain jupiterempath and "Sachi Gleee Party") You know... glee. Like, joy. (makes *gleee* motion with hands)
Border Crossing Official: Uh huh. Pop the trunk, young lady.

Except for some ice on the US side of the border, that's about it. Then, to continue telegraphically:

Drive to RI. Deep Space Nine with redbeard, keenween, and the monkey on keenween's back. Deep Space Nine. Deep Space Nine. Sleep. Deep Space Nine, again, some more, for FOURTEEN STRAIGHT HOURS. We are just two episodes shy of finishing the entire 6th season in thirty hours.

G.C. imminent (or Operation Ass: Part the Second). I've been having nightmares about figuring out what to do with my hair for the banquet, now that I no longer need to have nightmares about taking the commuter rail into Boston. CAN'T WAIT. Details to follow.

*love!* to all
-- Little Red, who acknowledges that her life is way more interesting to her than it is to other people.
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