Crap, I published without a title

I figured I'd treat myself this evening (which, for some reason beyond my comprehension, includings blogging).  There's a few reasons for this.  First, Mom and Dad are in Seattle, so I have the house to myself and can thus get rat-assed (or shit-faced, take your pick) in peace and not feel like a twat/loser/15 year old/bad daughter.  Second, the last two days have been a pain.  Yesterday, I had to clean out the junk/gadget drawer in the kitchen because it was filled with ants.  Oh, and the dog barfed at some point--don't know when--and I had to clean it up.  I don't cope well with slimy bodily excretionsToday, I walked into the main bathroom (which I rarely use, particularly when I'm alone and don't feel a particularly pressing urge to bathe) only to find the sink and counter, AND part of the wall black with ants.  Also today, I went to a pilates class.  Very little mat work, but plenty of leg work (and core--probably more if I'd chosen to, you know, actually engage my core) and so now my calves feel like, well, like they do when I jog.  If you care--which you don't--I don't get shin splints from jogging because I run on the balls of my feet.  Instead, it affects my soleus muscle (one of two? muscles in the back of the calf).  It's less painful by a long shot, but possibly slightly more annoying.

And now I have to interrupt my drunken blogging (hey, I could be calling you, don't complain) to say that LOST is wrong.  Well, it's not, because the writers have had this planned out from day frickin' one, but if Jack is on the plane--Oceanic flight whatever that crashed on the island--Desmond can't be on it, since he was on the island pressing a button--or not--when the flight crashed.  And oh fucking god the island is Atlantis.

And now I'll stop my drunken probably not because they're probably very wrong spoilers, but will say: Adam, if you don't like it, don't read it (I love you honey :) ).

So yes, go back two paragraphs--wow, didn't know Steve Martin could tap dance (seriously, I shouldn't blog and watch TV at the same time)--between all of that, writing more thank you notes for wedding gifts since I haven't written any for probably two weeks, and well, I dunno, I wanted some champers.

Specifically, I'm drinking the final bottle of Domaine Meriwether's Brut Discovery Cuvée.  This is also know as "the sparkling wine you drank if you came to our wedding reception."  

Can a jumpsuit be slimming if you're above a specific size?  Or has Jorge Garcia lost weight?

(Fucking simultaneous timelines)

For those who are curious, according to Lisa at Territorial, most private parties average about 3 drinks a person.  We averaged about 4 drinks a person, though to be fair, I don't remember if Lisa averaged in the case (12 bottles) of sparkling (that which I am drinking now).

(I think we're up to 4 different timelines now, but maybe only 3.  To be fair, I doubt sobriety would help)

Part of this is because Kellie, Dylan, and a couple of other people I don't remember kicked our average WAY the hell up.  Very few people drank beer (Carol, Adam, and myself are the only people I know for certain had a beer or two), and we were under our initial price limit.  For those who don't understand--which would include me, had I not set this up with Lisa's help--we rented the winery (shockingly cheap), and then told Lisa how much we wanted to spend.  She also offered a figure, to be fair, but we stayed under it.  Also note that that figure did not include the sparkling wine.  We had three bottles of that left, and now we have none.

And in a roundabout way, this is why I shouldn't blog while drinking.

And and randomly, Adam said the last post sounded like bragging, so I'd like to point out that I'm reading Harry Potter and the Socerer's Stone instead of EVERYTHING back on the side of my bed.  Yeah, I'm lame and tired of reading new things.  I'm also tired of Faith kicking me in the middle of the night.  Her nails/clawns are sharp and pokey, and have a lot of dirt on them to boot.  Man, I remember when our backyard used to be green.

Dude, back to LOST.  And if you care there are 4.5 champagne flutes worth of champers in a standard 750 ML bottle of sparkling/champagne.

EDIT:  It's not Jacob and Esau, it's Ram Dass and Timothy Leary.  Whatever the fuck that means.  For all my love of this show, I really, REALLY hate it.  Gah.

Also, Morgan Freeman narrates everything these days (minus CNN; James Earl Jones isn't dead yet) since Walter Kronkite died.