...in the new york groove. Or, more likely, the North Delta daily grind. Back from the land of the ice and snow, from the midnight sun where the hot springs blow. Or, more likely, where the goats blow. Goats totally blow.
I'm currently prepping for mid-to-high level alcohol saturation tonight. After a week with my parents I intend to do some abusing. I was reading Chelsea Handler's book in the airport today (on page 62 after reading in in various stores in multiple locations, I intend to read the whole thing without paying) and she referred to herself not as an alcoholic, but rather an "advanced drinker." I like this. Also, she drinks Vodka Collinses, which I have never had, but think I could like. I'd like to fancy myself as a less slutty, less funny version of her. Kind of a poor, sexless man's version of her. I think my boyfriend would agree.
Trip highlights include riding horses and quads, witnessing the birth and death of a baby cow (calf to those in the biz, veal to those with an appetite) as well as my mother's slow descent into insanity and my family's inevitable self destruction. Those may be correlated, but are not causal. (Happy family's are all alike, shitshow's are like snowflakes...)
Hark, who goes there? Vodka? Come in, sit down, take your bra off if you like. I've got some drinking to do. Some drinking and some forgetting.