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…Robin laid an egg?

Well you guys are just the greatest support network a gal like me could ask for. I’m recovering quite well from the giant holes in my face, and now I just seem to be suffering from severe lethargy. The thought of getting up in 6 hours for work is enough to make me want to tear out my stitches. I just want sleep.

I attempted Christmas shopping yesterday. I tend to do these things alone, because I’m bit of a gloomy shopper. As soon as I step foot in a mall I feel depressed, utterly dejected, and damned near impoverished. If it’s not on sale, I can’t buy it (although I’ll never understand the reasoning behind buying a plain t-shirt for fucking $50 just because it’s a label brand). With the CRAZED INSANITY PSYCHOTICNESS of Christmas shopping upon us, this awful mood just intensifies x100.

I grumble, and groan, and break out in nervous sweats. I have to sweep the ENTIRE MALL first, comparing deals and pricetags and merch, before I can even CONSIDER buying anything. I wanted to buy the Planet Earth series for my father yesterday, but it was $99. I discovered it later on Amazon for $36. See what I mean?

Anyway, I picked up a few small things. Nothing for mom or dad. No wrapping paper. No Christmas cards. I have to go back there, to that miserable hole. To that soul-eating sonofabitch building. Dammit.

I had an extremely quiet weekend. Girls night at JagerBomb where I looked on sadly as everyone devoured nachos and it was forbidden to me (need I describe my agony?). Everyone drank casually and I drank water. Lil Sis stayed over and we cuddled and caught up on things. She’s going to Thailand for a freaking month to visit her brother, and I am eaten up with jealousy.

Last night, some lady friends came over and we attempted watching a movie but mostly just sat around chatting. Hevs made me some wicked-awesome chicken soup. Damn I’ve been so cranky lately with all these swirly life hormones but I have amazing friends, they take such great care of me.

Then my roomies and some of their friends were getting ready to check-out the skeet pub known as Peter Easton. As they were leaving, I was upstairs in my room but I could hear them talking. Someone asked why I was staying at home.
“She just had her wisdom teeth out,” Chef said. I swear I could hear the pride in his voice. “Otherwise she’d be out, she’s a bigger alcoholic than the both of us put together.”

Damn, such a reputation to live up to.

Also did the whole Christmas parade thing today, complete with banana-hot-chocolate and Hevs. It was pretty sweet, but I wish companies would stop slapping signs onto a moving vehicle and calling it a “parade float”, and perhaps the dancers should crack a smile. It scares me how bitter I am.

So here’s a pretty perfect example of a skeet. His name is Donnie Dunphy, and chances are you won’t find him all that funny because there’s so many Newfoundland references, but you’ll get the imagery/speech. This is what I refer to as a “Newfie” accent, except mine generally isn’t all that bad unless you toss me in with a bunch of people from da bay. But that’s a different story.

Also, a delivery guy came to the house tonight with a big stack of pizzas for “Walsh.” ?! Who the HELL ordered pizza for me?