Winter Wickedness! A Phlog!
The subject line of this particular entry is misleading. You see, anyone that I’ve talked to in the past few days knows that I wasn’t able to get tickets to Winter Wickedness. Woe is me. Which is fine, as I was supposed to go visit my brother in Michigan this weekend, and meet my niece for the first time.
This trip to Michigan, however, did not occur. You see there’s this unfortunate recessive gene in my family that evidently renders the females completely useless when faced with the combination of snow and driving. Thankfully it skips generations, so I’m safe, but I also don’t drive, at all. As such, instead of traveling up to Michigan with my mother, I am trapped at her house in between Plain City and Marysville.
I have been plotting nefarious ways of sneaking into Winter Wickedness. Upon realizing that would require a fuck-lot more effort than I’m willing to put into it and also realizing that if I attempted something of that nature, I’d probably be banned from any future events, I decided that staying snowed in was the best bet.
However, I also decided to turn this into a “Day In Amanda’s Life Photo Op”. Bad quality because they’re all cell pics, but oh well. So while all you lucky fucks are doing all sorts of fun and interesting things, the following is how I spent my Saturday.
This will be the blandest and longest fucking thing you have ever read, because to be honest…my life is not that enthralling.
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Last night, my mother and I killed a bottle of bourbon over the course of six hours. You can imagine how I felt when I woke up this morning. It did not help that at 8 in the morning, my mothers partner was standing at the doorway of her guest bedroom, screaming, “Wake up you drunk!! Lush, get your ass out of bed!”.
Believe it or not, this did not actually get me out of bed. Moments after being screeched at, my cat decides it’s a perfect time to knock over the glass of ice water that was left for me on the nightstand. He did not simply tip it over. He tipped it over, ONTO MY FACE.
Rudy, the love of my life, and the evilest motherfucker on the face of the earth
When I finally got myself together, I saw a look of “Good morning, fuckwad. Love you,” on his cunning feline face. He wins this round, but I know where he sleeps and I provide him with his food. He better watch his back.
I stumble toward the kitchen in search of something to quell my hangover, and find this.
Thanks, moms. I’ll be happy to shovel a foot of snow, while you’re out buying a snow blower.
I can happily do these things, but I have other priorities. Food.
Coffee, in the first pic. Clearly. The second? The leftovers of my mom’s homemade mac and cheese. Best hangover food ever.
I finally get my punk ass dressed, and trudge out into the snow to shovel off their back deck. They use it to store firewood and I guess they’re hauling some up from the shed, and needed a place to put it. Why they wouldn’t have been able to use their new snow blower to clear it off, I do not know.
I didn’t think of taking a before picture, but I thought I did pretty good.
Their dogs, the three golden retrievers, were up my ass the entire time. Because they’re…you know…golden retrievers, they think snow is the BEST THING EVER and do not understand why you do not want to roll around with them in the snow and get it stuck up your nose, at 9 in the morning with a hangover.
I go back in, look out into my mom’s front yard, and take in the sight.
Holy shit, I’m going to be trapped here forever.
I finally got around to taking a shower and feeling like a human.
No. There’s no picture of this.
After the shower, I fucked around on the internet for a good two hours, before deciding that perhaps I actually need to do something with my time other than browsing 4chan and lurking livejournal communities.
So I settled on making cookies.
My life, it is so exciting.
That’s a lot of cookie ingredients. And laptop, because I need my tunes.
My mom’s partner wanted a double batch. Here you will see four sticks of butter, nearly five cups of flour, and a fuck load of other stuff I don’t feel like listing. To the right, you may notice my arch nemesis. The fucking electric range. My moms would have the perfect kitchen if it were only gas. But they also have this:
It’s beautiful.
That is one of my favorite kitchen items, aside from a good set of knives. I would kill to have one of those mixers of my own. (Hint: My birthday is next Wednesday, and they’re on sale at Target for a hundred bucks off. Red is my favorite color, by the way.)
I tend to make cookies too large, and I some how fucked up this first round. Badly.
They taste good, but look horrid.
After the cookie debacle was complete, I hole up in my mom’s living room because there was Lesbian Drama Occurring. I’ve noticed when these things happen it’s best to keep one’s head down, especially if they don’t involve you. I’m officially the thing that’s being used for my gaggle of lesbians (my moms and aunts) to fight, but not the actual problem. It’s like being a kid in the middle of divorce; sometimes you just provide good ammunition.
So I turned on the TV and watch some ridiculous Western. When that wasn’t enough, I made the trek out back to haul wood up to the house.
One of the multiple piles of wood in the backyard. This particular one was full of dead, massive bugs.
The dogs also decided to help. And by help, I mean find decapitated heads in the yard and bringing them over to me.
Yum.
I had to tie the tarp back over the pile of wood. I was making little jokes to myself such as, “Psh, who needs a dom?! I can tie shit up myself!”. That’s sarcastic, of course.
Ignore my shoddy rope work.
When I came back inside, I discovered the lesbians are taking their drama elsewhere. Meaning somewhere in Columbus, there is a meeting of four lesbians at a restaurant somewhere, quietly bickering over god knows what.
And yes, I find it funny that my family can’t be fucked to drive to Michigan, but they can totally hop in a car and drive into the city for beer. Our love for debauchery of all sorts, it is intense.
With the lesbians out of the house, I decided to indulge in a bit of personal…ahem…attention.
No, there’s no pictures of this either.
After a short nap, I decide to start the laundry like my mother asked me. I go down to the laundry room and find this.
It looks like a second hand store exploded, fuckinghell.
At this point, my beloved internet was calling my name again. On my various blog-hopping, I found this little gem.
I’m really hoping the majority of you understand the humor in this.
Just because there is a significant lack of pictures of ME in this post, it is safe to assume that I looked like his the entire time.
I then spent the entire evening working on a five-paged beginning of a short story I started last week. It’s fantastically disturbing and pretty damn creepy, in a “ew what is this I don’t even-” way.
He did what?
Though it’s only eight, I highly doubt my evening is going to get much more exciting than this.
The things I do to keep myself from going insane while snowed-in.
