The Morning After.

I should have read my horoscope before I went out last night.

Abigail's Horoscope for September 28th: You thrive on strange times and weird encounters, but today could get to be a bit much even for you. Try not to worry too much if you find someone close behaving like a lunatic -- it should make sense soon!

Luckily, we were all lunatics together, and I am not the only person trying to piece together a very blurry Fraturday evening.

I think the consensus is that we had a good time, a few of us are hoping that we didn't say or do anything too terribly stupid, nobody got seriously injured, double whiskey's should only be drank out of the public eye, and there are a couple restaurants out there in the downtown area that probably never want to see some of us again, if only we could remember which ones.

Me and My Brother

Abigail: Hey fucker, where the hell have you been, I need to talk to you.

Brother: I'm sitting right here, what's up?

Abigail: (whispering) I don't know if you've noticed, because you are retarded, but I've been kinda sorta seeing someone.

Brother: Is he a fucktard?

Abigail: Like all summer, you've seen us together. A lot. Like everytime you see me, you see him. I've been trying to actually speak with you, because I want your input.

Brother: I think I know, but ok, who is it?

Abigail: I figured you weren't paying attention. It's ____.

Brother: Oh yah. You know what that reminds me of....

Abigail: I know, the kids from Roseanne. We're just like the Roseanne show.

Brother laughs, Abigail laughs, we buy another round, and both molest the hot bartender.

Brother: Well that's awesome, ____ is awesome.

Abigail: I know he is. So what's your opinion?

Brother: Well, Abigail, he isn't a pompous ass like ___, he doesn't do coke like ____, he doesn't smoke crack like ___ and ___, and I can't see him doing ___ like ___ and ____, or doing what ____ did to you.

Abigail: Yup, I sure have had a good run, haven't I?

Brother: You date retards. And assholes. Is he good to you? Does he make you happy?

Abigail: Yep, he's good people.

Brother: Well then, I say go for it. Shit, if anything, it'll make family gatherings easier to plan.

Abigail: I think I just will.

Brother: No, like now! Quick! Commit!!! While you're still drunk!!!

Abigail grins ear to ear, and then cackles at that ridiculous statement so hard that she farts.

Brother: Who farted?

Abigail: God, whoever did that is just gross.

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are!!!!!!

Last night I was staring at my StatCounter thinking that the number of hits I've been getting the past few weeks has been quite sporadic. Some days, almost nobody comes by to visit, yet on other days, I have been getting record numbers of hits, yet only my close blogging community pals have been commenting. (not that I mind that, those cool cats always have something wonderful, sweet, funny, or just plain redonkulous to say!)

As I looked at my visitor map of the world, I had to wonder why Hawaii, Chile, Spain and England weren't commenting. Maybe I have a long lost friend in Thailand that has been reading me daily, but I am just a horrible friend, and forgot that they moved there. Who are my readers in British Columbia, Alberta and Saskatchewan? Is it just that they don't have anything nice to say, so they aren't saying anything at all?

It's not that I write here, just for the comments. But like any blogger, I like feedback, and I like to know that at least someone out there is reading what I write.

Then, tonight after finally returning home after almost 30 hours of work at the group home, I sit down to read Madame Diva , and see that I don't have to wait for De-lurking Week, to make you all come out and show yourselves, because another one has been started up!!!! Thank you, Schmutzie and pals, for doing this for us!

This is my plea, to all of you to come out and let me know who you are, on or before October 3rd, 2007. In return, I promise to de-lurk myself to all of you who I am hiding in the bushes reading as well.

Come on, let's all be friends!

If you would like to participate in The Great Mofo Delurk 2007, you can go and grab the code, and the info here.

Meme Before Bed

Madame Diva asked:


What are your TOP FIVE FUCKABLE CELEBRITIES? , and I have answered. Even though I really wasn't happy about musicians not counting as celebrities. Actors don't really make me hot, but someone who can weild a guitar, tickle the ivories or bang a gong, do make me a little hot in the pants. But I digress. Let's get on with this meme.

1. Don McKellar. He doesn't know it yet, but he loves me too.

2. Molly Parker. Fell in lust with her, while I was ogling Don McKellar on Twitch City. Now I ogle her on Deadwood whenever I remember to watch it.

3. Anderson Cooper. He's cute, and has brains. Good stuff.

4. George Stroumboulopoulos. Watch him. Look at him. Listen to him. 'Nuff said.

5. Justin Timberlake. He really did bring sexy back.

On the 25th, I Pledge to Bring You Five Run-On Sentences.

I was perusing blogs today, and as usual, happened upon Das Schmutz. She is participating in x365, which is a really fantastic idea. For 365 days, you post one tidbit about one person that you recall the first and last name of, that you just want to get off your chest, I guess. I thought about participating myself, but I know for a fact that at some point, I would forget about it, and would no doubt feel horrible about myself for being a quitter, and opted out. Also, I don't really want to name names around here, especially since some of those names may not know who this 'Abigail' person is, and I would like to keep it that way, if they do happen to stumble upon this here blog of mine.

Once I decided to be one of the cool kids that hang out at the back of the gymnasium and not participate in what's going on, I remembered that I had done something a few months ago, that was a tad similar, and thought that I would participate in a non-participatory way....a way that was more anonymous-unless-you-know-who-you-are, and a way that I could totally get myself out of an uncomfortable "Was that me you were talking about?" situation, by just saying that they read too much into it, and I was talking about somebody else. As well, I can do repeats, if in fact, I have more than one thing to say about said person.

From now on, I will spend the 25th day of each month, or the nearest date to that date, if I happen to go on a bender and forget that the 25th existed, saying what I want to say about people I have encountered in my life, in the vaguest possible way, in five sentences.

Feel free to ask for clarification. I may or may not clarify.

1. I wanted to write a sentence for you, but then I remembered this song, and it said it for me.



2. You are my favorite girl, and you can't speak for yourself, which is why I will always try to speak for you, with your best interests in mind.

3. I really, truly miss our nights of dancing better than everyone else, during and prior to, drunken debauchery.

4. It will all work out sweetheart, because you love him, and he loves you.

5. Yours, was the first and only tour bus I was ever on, and all I did was drink Pilsner and play cribbage.

House of Pain Cleaning

I have been majorly slacking off in the housework/running errands department, since the snow melted and The Pub patio opened many moons ago. At times throughout the summer, I felt twangs of guilt over being so damned lazy, but they never lasted long, and were nothing that a beer or two couldn't cure. So on Friday, I sat down and made a long list of only a handfull of things I need to get done asap. I occasionally glanced at the list throughout the weekend, and whenever it looked back, I left the house.

However, this morning, I decided that today was the day to get things done. I have a day of sleeping in, and then drinking planned for tomorrow, and then it's back to work, so today had to be the day.

I was on a roll for awhile there. I washed the dishes, but let them air dry. I washed my bedding, because it smelled of sex and popcorn. I threw out basically everything in the fridge freezer, because it had been here since before I moved in.

I sat down to make phone calls, important calls that I should have made months ago, and then decided I didn't feel like socializing with the Honda dealership, my doctor, or the passport office. I rationalized that my phone was on the fritz, and with my luck, it would do its normal "crackle-fizz-screech" right in the middle of one of these important conversations anyways,and I would have to hang up, so I best call them once I purchase a new phone.

Once I stopped, the laziness took over faster than the speed of light.

I decided that cleaning the yard and the garage were chores much more suited to a Sunday afternoon, with a case of beer and some friends.

I don't have the money to get my four hundred photos developed that I took over the summer, so that'll have to wait too.

I will take the bottles to Sarcan and the bottle depot when I am really hard up for beer and gas money. If I took them in now, I'd be kicking myself later.

I stopped to check my Facebook messages, and learned that beers may be in order later, for us who don't get weekends. I decided that I needed to earn my pub time, if I chose to have it, and braced myself to clean the fridge. If I was going to put off everything else on the list, I figured I better complete the one thing on the list that was circled and surrounded by big stars and exclamation points.

Approximatly four seconds after I started this brutal task, I immediatly regretted it. I was disgusted with myself, and told myself so. After throwing out everything that was expired, indistinguishable, or older than time, the V-Man and I were left with many bottles of soya sauce, salad dressings,3 containers of margerine, a few other random condiments and dips, some tortilla shells and about 6 eggs.

Once all the expired food and whatnot was disposed of, I could see the real mess. Spilled soda pop, stray carrots, and mold. Yes, mold. We like to live dangerously here at the House of Pain. I thought of just taking the fridge out to the dumpster and leaving it there. I puked in my mouth a little bit. I thought of all the things that may have been near the mold, that I was so brazenly eating all this time. But I traversed on. I could do it. I could clean this. I'm big and tough, and I had faith in myself.

I bleached the shit out of the fridge. I scrubbed and scrubbed and made it look as good as new. And then I went to the bathroom and vomitted my face off. I wasn't as tough as I thought I was. But I had won. The grease and grime and mold had lost this battle, and I was victorious.

I had a cup of coffee, and looked at the list again. All of a sudden, none of it seemed all that important. My battle with the refridgerator was all I could handle for today. It took every bit of motivation out of me.

I am going to have a bath, put the clean bedding on my bed, and take a nap. All those other chores will just have to wait until the trauma from today has passed.

Smokey Robinson

I've been on a big Motown kick lately.

How to Give Yourself All Day Gas In Just a Few Easy Steps

I was craving tacos yesterday, from the second I woke up. This is not unusual for me. I regularly eat tacos for breakfast, and sometimes even lunch and supper. I got home, and ran to the fridge, I realized that my tomatoes were getting a bit too moldy to eat, and I was out of salsa, sour cream and I had forgotten to purchase taco seasoning when I was grocery shopping last week.

But I was determined. I was going to have spicy meat, in a soft tortilla shell.

Instead of the generic taco seasoning that I so love, I thought I'd try and sprinkle in some tandoori masala and some curry powder. Within seconds, my kitchen smelled like the Punjabi restaurant downtown.

I was sad about using all my sour cream to make dips for the engagement party last weekend, but I remembered that I had some Raita dip left over, and figured that would go well with the curry in the meat. I spread it all over the tortilla shells.

While the meat was browning, I thought I'd set up everything else. I realized that the only cheese I had was mozza soy loaf. I love soy loaf, I could eat it all day, but it never melts the way I want it to. I shred it up anyways, and ate a good chunk of it, while I cursed myself for eating all my vegetables.....I only had romaine lettuce and white onion to put in this damn taco.

In ten short minutes, it was all ready to put together. But for some reason, it just didn't seem right. Maybe because I was still upset about not being able to use generic taco seasoning. I decided to shred some more cheese, and put it on top of the wraps, and I threw them in the oven for a few minutes.

They were heavenly. They didn't really taste like tacos, they were more of an East Indian Meat Pie. The grease from the meat, and the I'll-melt-when-I-feel-like-it mozza soy loaf had gooed together, and it was a little bit of heaven in my mouth. The Raita added a flavour that sour cream only wishes it could add.

It was so good, I was actually happy to have leftovers. I'm going to eat them for breakie again today, and maybe even for supper. Sometimes, the concoctions I make up, are better than the 'real' foods I already know how to cook.

YUM! YUM!

Bob Dylan

I like Bob Dylan, so why not help him advertise? Schmutzie did it, Saviabella did it, Smyrish did it, and so did That Girl. And because of them, I'm gonna do it too. I'm a follower that way. Oh, and don't worry, the words are angry, but the Abigail is happy and scrappy.

Day Sleeper.

Hmmm..it's 4:37 pm. I should still be sleeping, instead of sitting here occasionally listening in on The Cosby Show, and drinking this re-heated-twice-now coffee.

I worked a night shift last night, for the first time in a long time. For a long time, I worked the twelve to eights at the group home. Started out on a rotation, and did them 3 days a week for a few years, then it got too hard for my body to do 3 nights/3 evenings/3 days and I requested to do Monday to Friday graveyard shift, which I did for about a year.

It was heavenly. I have always been a night owl, and although I am the uber-social butterfly, I truly enjoyed the solitude of the night shift. I liked having nobody around that I needed to make small talk with, and I truly enjoyed just being on my own, to do my job in my own way.

I feel most creative in the wee hours of the morning, when nobody is around to distract me. In my year of doing strictly night shifts, I would arrive at work, get all the work done I was being paid to do, and then sit down, and do my own work, before it was time to wake up the ladies. I would bring my jewellery and sewing supplies and spend the nights creating for festivals, or I would sit at the computer or on the deck, and write to my heart's content. It was always so peaceful.

Eventually, it got to be a bit much. Summer hit, and I found that I wasn't sleeping when I got home, like I did in the winter. I wanted to be awake, to be out and about in the sunshine with the night sleepers. I would go two days without sleep, quite regularly just so I wouldn't miss out on any fun. I made a decision to quit my position, and go back to my old day job, and be like regular people.

Day shift, was not my thing. I had forgotten how much I hate mornings, especially in the winter. Getting up an hour early, just to scrape the windshield and warm up the car before I could head off to work, was hellish. It was strange to feel exhausted by ten o'clock at night, and I missed the days when I was able to stay up late.

When this supervisory position came up at the group home, I just had to jump on it. The hours I worked in a week allowed me to sleep in if need be, and stay up late if I wanted. Evenings, are definitely where I belong. And sometimes, I am lucky enough to be able to cover some night shifts for my staff, like I am doing this week, and it feels like I am getting a bit of a break.

Last night, was fun. I didn't realize how much I needed last night, until this morning, when I finally trudged home at 11:00am. I needed some alone time, to think, to get myself organized, to take in the past few days of being a busy little bee who took a very spontaneous trip to Toon Town, followed by a night of drinking on the patio, followed by a day of preparing to host a dinner party, followed by a day of brunch and feeding geese in the park.

However, I have to be back there tonight, and with only three hours of sleep under my belt, tonight might not be as wonderful. I forgot how hard it was to sleep all day, when it is so darn nice outside. Hopefully, after a nice dinner, I will be able to catch a few more winks, so I can enjoy another night of paid solitude.

Ah, Memories.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes......

Abigail's Horoscope for September 13th: You are on the verge of a major change, but it won't begin until you go out of your way to try something new. Look around and figure out what seems most interesting or exciting to you, then do it!

This is the third time in three weeks that I have had this exact same horoscope reading. That's got to mean something. Or else, whoever writes for Aquarius is getting seriously lazy.

Abigail's Guilty Pleasures

It's time to come clean.....

1. E! True Hollywood Stories

2. Eating popcorn in bed.

3. Avril Lavigne.

4. Flirting with tall skinny boys with metrosexual hair and clothes.

5. Brat Pack movies.

6. Picking dead skin off my feet.

7. Ruining perfectly good pizza or lasagna, by picking off the cheese and eating it.

8. Cheap, headache inducing red wine.

9. Watching "Dog, The Bounty Hunter".

10. Pouring hot candle wax on my palms.

11. Skipping out on work, just to do nothing at all.

12. Cigarettes.

13. KFC's popcorn chicken.

14. Going commando.

15. Ripping off my split ends.

16. Cosmo magazines.

17. Booty-calls.

18. Justin Timberlake.

19. Me, the couch, and a day of MuchMoreMusic.

20. The pain from tattoos.

21. Living in my pajamas and not showering for an entire weekend.

22. Staying up all night partying, when I know I have to be up very early, and I'm going to be hurting.

23. Facebook.


What about you?

* For more lists of guilty pleasures, check out Saviabella, Knuckle Toes ,Madame Diva and
WenchWire. Why? Because they are four ladies who truly rock my world.

Journey to Thirty

I spent most of my morning thus far drinking re-heated, leftover-from-god-knows-when coffee, and perusing blogs. I stumbled upon Nicolemarie and her Journey to Thirty, and got to thinking that my own journey to thirty is off to a brisk start.

In 5 months, I will be twenty-nine. Twenty-nine. It's a good number. I like odd numbers. Much nicer sounding than twenty-eight, but not as nice as twenty-seven. Oh, how I loved being twenty-seven.

I remember a time when thirty seemed so old. People who were thirty, had their shit together. They owned homes, they had children, they had regular jobs, and university degrees. They sat around having drinks and watching their kids play, and went to bed at a decent hour, because they had many adult things to do the next day.

Even when I was in my early twenties, and most of my friends were in their late twenties and early thirties, I still thought that the way to go, was get all the partying and adventure out of my system, because once I got to thirty, it was all going to come to a screeching halt. I don't know why I thought that, I just did. I looked at some of my older friends, and for some reason thought that what they were doing with their lives was wrong, immature even. All they did was go to school, go to work and party all the live-long day. They acted just like I did, and dammit, I was years younger! Didn't they want to grow up?

I had a crisis when I turned twenty-five. I was trying to find myself, after finally getting over the B-Rock break-up, and hated being single for the first time, ever. I had just gotten back from Scotland, and was working two jobs just to get back on my feet, and just get by. Although I looked hotter than ever, I felt like the ugliest piece of shit in the world. My self-esteem was at an all time low. I feared that everyone else was going to all of a sudden get married, have kids, buy homes, and I was going to be left in the dust. I thought that that was what twenty-five year olds were supposed to do. I felt completely and utterly alone in the world, and just wanted to run away from it all, but I was stuck, financially, and couldn't even afford to feed myself. I couldn't believe that I was twenty-five, and didn't have any life-plans on the go. And then I broke my leg, and my dad died, and the last six months of being twenty-five are just a blur of depression and drinking. Oh, how I hated twenty-five. I don't wish twenty-five on my worst enemy.

By the time twenty-seven hit, I was good to go. Somewhere in year twenty-six, I just accepted the fact that I was me, and that maybe having a house and a white-picket fence, kids, and a nasty divorce just wasn't in my future. That was for regular people, and I wasn't really like regular people. I celebrated the fact that I had made it to the rock and roll death age, by loving life, and learning to love myself a bit more, and everything started to change in this whacked out brain of mine.

Twenty-eight hasn't been all bad. Sure, the winter was hell. I'm sure I'll have many more hellish winters and bouts of depression in my lifetime. That's just they way it is, for me. I still think though, deep down, I want the house and the kid and the person to grow old with, just like I did when I was twenty-five, but I've learned that I am lucky, in a way, that I don't have all that to tie me down, just yet. Oh, and I think that I party harder than my friends did when they were my age way back when I was in my early-twenties, and I now understand why they were just like me. Not everyone wants the lives that our parents had. Not all of us fit into that mould.

I don't know what life will be like when I'm thirty. In a way, I'm kind of excited, just to get my twenties over with, but I don't want to rush too much, because I sure as hell am not ready for forty.

I think that I need to really put my foot down on myself, and start saving money, in order to make twenty-nine as memorable as I can. I am itching to travel again, and have decided that having adventure in life is what makes me the happiest. I want to add more stories to my mental library, I want to stay in more hostels, before I feel much too old to stay in a hostel. I want to sleep on a few more dirty train station floors, and meet as many people from around the globe as I can. For the first time in my life, I feel confident, and truly happy and want to fit as much into life as possible, in case some life-altering change hits me, or it does come to a screeching halt.

Anyone want to join me?

Just Girl Stuff.

One week out of every month of my entire sexually active adult life thus far has been spent worrying about whether or not my luck has finally run out, and indeed, the seed of a wee babe has been planted in my belly.

The week usually starts off with me running into a friend with a little one, and enjoying time spent with whatever tiny human it happens to be, followed by a comment from said friend, or whomever else happens to be around, indicating to me that I would be one heck of a mommy one day. Afterwards, I think about how having a kid wouldn't be all that bad, and daydream about what it would be like to show off my preggers belly, or drag my beautiful baby around town, bragging about how gosh darn wonderful they are. Shit, I love everyone else's kids, I'm sure I could love my own.

A couple of days later, when I realize that I have completely lost track of when my last period was, and when the next one is supposed to arrive, I snap out of it. I can't believe that I was thinking that being impregnated was A-Ok, and start to dread the thought of my easy-peasy rock and roll lifestyle being tipped over backwards. I am much too selfish and irresponsible to raise a child. I can't even keep track of my cats, and only remember to water the plants when I notice that they are droopy and brown.

Even though it isn't time for Aunt Flo to arrive, by the next day, I am a mental wreck. I come up with master plans about how I am going to get out of this predicament that I am in, and cry over the thought that I no longer will be able to have the adventures I dream of, and I am now stuck in the rut that is raising a baby. I get out my day planner, and go back and try and remember when Aunt Flo's last visit was, "Did I have cramps when I was camping?", "Did I have to run home for tampons when I took the group home girls swimming?", and vow to myself that if my period does show up, I will start keeping track of it, just like my mom taught me to when I was young, so I don't have to go through this anymore.

When I awake the next day, and I am still not bleeding out of my vagina, I all of a sudden believe in God. I pray to whatever higher power that will listen, that if they just let me be baby- free for one more month, I will never ask for anything again. I remind them about how irresponsible and selfish and unhealthy I am, and that they shouldn't let a baby go through life with someone like that.

Usually, by the next day, I have accepted my fate. I'm going to be a mom, and I'm just going to have to deal with it. I celebrate my new found calm and rational thinking with many drinks, and good times with friends, who have no idea the mental anguish I have been in the past few days.*

I awake the next morning, and low and behold, I am menstruating. I rejoice! I grin ear to ear, thank the gods who listened to me, once again, and I do a little dance. Sometimes, I give a wink and a gun, to the bathroom mirror as I strut out of the bathroom like John Travolta a la Saturday Night Fever. It is always the happiest day of my life. For 2-3 hours.

Throughout the day, my joy is diminished as I notice zits, the cramps kick in, and I realize it's 3 days before payday, and I'm going to have to spend the last of my pennies on a box of tampons. Oh, and of course, I'm horny as hell, but the thought of having sex with these cramps makes me want to vomit in my mouth a little bit.

I make some popcorn, crawl into bed, and turn on the tube to some lame-ass sitcom, and hope that this week of moodiness and pain will zip by with no major hormonal events, so I can get back to my old self, and fit into my pants again.

Oh yes, being a woman is a truly amazing thing. ;)

* I realize that this is probably reason #1 why I am not ready to push a baby through my vagina.

Craven

Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

I have slept about 10 hours in total in the past three days. Plus, it's Friday, and I actually don't have to work today, or tomorrow even, so I'm just going to chillax, and try not to use my brain for the next 48 hours. Which is why, I am going to be all listy, and copy Schmutzie's idea of admitting to all of my fears. I told her I would. ;)

Things Abigail is Afraid Of:

1. Stairs that you can see through.

2. Giving birth.

3. Heartbreak.

4. Ladders.

5. Losing my mom.

6. My house burning down, and losing everything.

7. Dementia.

8. Getting a wood tick up my vagina.

9. Falling on ice.

10. Being alone in a huge, dark building.

11. Responsibility.

12. Watching scary movies by myself.

13. The thought of never travelling again.

14. Spiders crawling in my mouth while I sleep.

15. Not waking up.

16. Blood clots.

17. Passing semi's on the highway.

18. Other drivers on the road.

19. The icky goo at the bottom of my fridge.

20. Hurting someones feelings.

21. Choking, with no one around to save me.

22. Losing my teeth.

23. Pictures and paintings of people, in which the eyes follow you around the room.

24. Regret.

25. Sucker fish.

26. Being followed at night.

27. Having my back to a crowded room.

28. Public fist fights.

29. Psychic readings.

30. Being a bother.

31. Being thought a pansy, because this list is so long.

I Love Lamp.