I’ve spent the last two days deodorizing the place with Christmastime smells. Today will be more of the same.
I’m going to recycle some old content today. I figure if I didn’t remember it well, that nobody who had read my blog fifteen years ago would. It made me laugh and also a little sad because Victoria is the friend who passed away two years ago due to complications from the same health issue mentioned in this throwback post.
Once upon a time, we tried making hooch in my bathtub and laughed and laughed.
…And then laughed some more.
January 26, 2005
I’d like to dedicate this update to the craptastic handling job the Greyhound squad did with my hope chest. It got here quickly and in piss-poor condition. My hope chest arrived with the backing split and being held together only by the lid, proof it was crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of wherever. Any idiot knows not to expect IKEA furniture to last for years, but the other box that I had used to pack up my stuff was… CARDBOARD AND TAPE, and it survived. Dad thinks he can fix my hope chest using glue, and I hope he’s right because I liked using it as a coffee table, although I received a new one from my grandparents last week. The important stuff got here safely, though: my invaluable papers.
Since moving back here, there’s only been two or three days without rain. Today was almost one of them, but as soon as I stepped out of the door, it started to drizzle. I also went an entire year and a half without stepping in dog shit in Calgary, and within a minute into my walk today, the soles of my shoes got their first taste of dog shit. I knew that meant I had to walk the shit off so I spent half an hour shuffling around for the purpose of progressively wearing off the sole of crap. I was successful.
Speaking of lack of success, Ryan tried to get to my place on his own yesterday. He got off the bus 24 blocks too early, instead of giving him instructions on how to navigate his way here, I told him to just wait at the bus stop since, at the time, the buses were running every 8 minutes. By the time I sent him that information, he had somehow ended up on a street that was even further away from where I live. 13 text messages later, he was lying on the living room couch looking sick, so I fed him pills and made myself some food. I was also expecting Victoria, who had an appointment at the hospital at 1. Ryan had arrived at 5pm, so I was starting to get a bit worried about Victoria. I imagined the doctor telling her that something was really wrong with her, and that she had to go into surgery right away.
I needed Team Pruno to stay together to ensure the success of our molding beverage. A few minutes later, she welcomed herself into my place and laid the blame for being so late on her mother. Victoria was fine, but Ryan still wasn’t, so we went straight to the DVDs he had brought which were neither Biodome nor The Meaning of Life. The video store had no Pauly Shore movies on DVD and The Meaning of Life was with another family for the night. Prior to his journey to my place, we abused his unlimited text messaging trying to decide on two alternatives. He came up with Garden State while all I could think of was Confessions of a Dangerous Mind which I only chose because Charlie Kaufman had something to do with it.
Garden State was cute, but Confessions of a Dangerous Mind was not. I ended up drawing on Ryan’s European carry-all with permanent marker. The drawings started off as being things related to the first movie, but Victoria and I eventually gayed up his bag real good with anarchy symbols, skull and crossbones, a cross, “Dusky Pink”, “4:20”, “XdrugXfreeX”, “Unicorn Power” (accompanied by an incredibly cute drawing of a unicorn head), and “Do you smell what The Rock is cookin’?”
In between Garden State and Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, we did the second step of the Pruno production. This involved two squirts of ketchup and fifty sugar cubes, both of which I took care of. I also gave it an unsupervised bath in hot water for a bit longer than the required half-hour because we had started the second movie. and I only remembered when I returned to the bathroom to pee. I’m a terrible caregiver, so I turned over the responsibility of monitoring Pruno to Ryan. I did this for a good reason: I was scared that the smell would somehow escape the superior sealing powers of two Ziploc freezer bags. I’ll gladly smell it when it’s ready, but for now, it can gas Ryan’s bedroom.
Not only did he have to lug Pruno back home in his newly decorated bag, but also I reunited him with the weed he had forgotten at my place on Sunday. Victoria left at the same time, and as soon as they were both out of the door, I found some more weed on the Futon. Ryan’s pipe was being camouflaged by my zebra print blanket, and the contents of it had spilled over. My blanket now has a faint pot-smell in a specific spot.