shit's going to get fluffy

alright so as far as sam's comment on julia's last post goes... may i just note that maybe this blog wouldn't be so damned vagina-oriented if our male contributors oh i don't know, actually contributed???? jussayin. you guys can start posting things like measuring contests and the fact that i saw sam cuddle max better when wilbur hit him in the face with a pillow the other night if you want to, and i will read and enjoy them. but when us girls wanna talk about the puke-a-kitten-cute-shit that guys do for us those rules apply. got it?

unexpected things are just coming out of the wood work for me lately, and i know my posts as of late have been all bitchy and what not, but get ready for a curve ball... i am currently falling down the rabbit hole known as "a new prospective relationship". and damn is he just super neat. and without going into detail because sam and max would just have a fucking hey day with this, i really really really like him. and i think he thinks i'm pretty swell too. i feel good. in a hate myself kind of way because i'm not usually your cuddly, sentimental type. but this thing, whatever it is shaping up to be, makes visions of puppy dogs, fluffy towels, flying squirrels and other various bits of adorable shit fill my head and it feels awesome.

jules, i know what you mean about the stolen my heart? thing.... way to go.

sam, try not to hork too many times after reading this.

max... go drink some more tea, and i'm really really really gonna miss you man.

On code words and adorable pseudo-burglars

The house I live in Missoula has been my home for two years now and we've been this roughly amoebic group of roommates for three (they bought the house before I transferred here so I'm technically a late bloomer), and for the entire period we've had the understanding that if someone breaks in, or tries to murder us, or if an encyclopedia salesman is particularly unsavory, we all yell "SNOWCAT" and this is the signal to grab the nearest weapon to attack. Good news is we've got both a hatchet and a tomahawk right now so things are looking pretty solid on the the homeland security front.
WHICH IS LUCKY BECAUSE.
I got home the other night and my roommate Kendra, distress in her face, told me how we had a near SNOWCAT experience that very morning. Apparently while I was at work two men climbed over our fence and appeared to attempt to get into our house through my bedroom window, which is an basement egress in the back yard. While they were peering in, my other roommate's girlfriend Jess, who had been sleeping on the futon on the deck, stirred and said, "Um, hello?" Somewhat startled, they told her they were "measuring for a screen" and left in an embarrassed rush out the side gate.
Well my house found this quite bothersome, and we made some decisions about when and what to lock and hide, and were considering telling the neighbors that two sketchy dudes were kickin around the hood. Kendra even called our landlord to see if there was some work being done he hadn't mentioned, but he didn't know anything about it. SHIT.
HOWEVER.
I met a guy, like him a lot (this is related, I'm not just bragging). As Kendra and I discussed the situation, this guy, Clark, sat on the couch, sort of smiled, and finally said, "Can I tell you guys a secret?" Turns out the alleged attempting burglars were him and his friend, and they were actually measuring my window for a screen for a funny sweet surprise so bugs wouldn't get in. The friend had seen Jess but thought she was Kendra (they hadn't met Jess yet, and, to be fair, the two girls do look a lot alike) and assumed everything would be kosh. False. We were on amber alert because a boy wanted me to stop getting mosquito bites.

Moral of the story: Clark is no burglar, but (I'm sorry- I must) he's stolen my heart?

Response.

Sam, you are totally a douche for not writing on here in so long, and your self-loathing is justified, especially since you ditched me to go barbeque with your dad's girlfriend. homewrecker. picking up your slack, however, has been mucho good times. aaaahhh, who am i kidding? the only reason i absorb myself in this so often is because my boss told me that if she catches me on facebook during work hours one more time she's gonna fire me. looks like i should start scanning the classifieds.

jules. i don't know if you knew this about me..... but i'm sort of a champion dancer (and that's kind of a big deal). if you need a professional to help start your revolutionary coup, my salary normally starts around 75K. but i can teach you the robot, among other things, like how to successfully dance your way out of an awkward situation. works really well at office parties.

max. i will always love you even though your contributions are minimal at best. what ever happened to that sperm bank assignment i gave you? now that'd be some good readin'

calvin. i don't know if you ever check this but i'm sure once you do your ego will plummet from being told what a failure you are over and over again. but you're still one wicked dude.

i'm off to try to fight the man about my car, and possibly try to find a new one.

Oh shiiiit

I feel like a douche cause I haven't written on here in so long :(((((((( so many frowns over here. I'm totally cooking a pizza right now so I can't do it, but I have so much to say about how many beefs I have with the world right now that I'll write a real show-stopper. I promise and I love you and thanks for picking up my slack J and O.

Time for an actual dance dance revolution

So yes I went to Butte again this weekend, and yes it was the folk festival, and yes I'm sorry you couldn't be there Olivia (we'll meet someday), and no Calvin wasn't even invited. Despite intermittent rain, sheer exhaustion, and a complete inability to actually hang out with all my friends who were down there, I had a good time. I got to rock the Tibetan sand mandala scene, the African-American tap dancing scene, Argentine tango scene, blah blah blah, made new friends and kept the old, blah blah blah, got a killer butt workout from walking up and down Butte's goddamn hills for three days, blah blah blah, and in general have only one major complaint:

WHERE THE FUCK WAS ALL THE DANCING.

A festival comprised mostly of music should consequently also be comprised mostly of dancing. You're out all day drinking in the streets, it's inevitable that you're going to need to dance at some point, and since blues, honky-tonk, bluegrass, gospel, Moroccan drumming and zydeco (among other things, obviously, geeze) were all to be had this weekend, it only seems logical that the festival planners allow for crowds to do anything between toe-tapping and competition-level jitterbug. HOWEVER. The dude who decided the seating was obviously an arthritic old dancing scrooge and as he grumbled to himself Friday morning, "If I can't dance, NOBODY WILLLLLLLL," packed the streets so tight with chairs that it was difficult to even navigate the aisles on the sides. AAAAAND the only two stages where they allowed for movement were so inappropriately crowded with people just standing and looking bored as shit that I couldn't do anything. One could say us dancer types were dancing constipated and the dancing Pepto Bismol was nowhere to be found in the medicine cabinet of the national folk festival 2010.

We gotta get this guy a Natural Light.

Two places I found relief were Saturday night at the Silver Dollar (you've yet to fail me, ole Dollar) where a double vodka cran made their house band sound like B.B. King, and Sunday afternoon at the main stage where a kickin but bizarrely apathetic-looking bluegrass troupe (I was under the impression that bluegrass bands were all supposed to be jacked up on Old Crow whiskey and stomping their bare feet all the time???) got even some of those previously mentioned old guys to shake their damn thang. A whomping good time was had by many, especially since there was a mystery keg (?!) like, five feet from me the whole time. Baller.

Sub-complaint:

When is our generation going to learn to dance? Am I the only 20-something in Montana who can do basic eight-count swing and waltz? Why do I always have to rely on smarmy silver-haired men in polos to fuckin twirl me around? Eff, peers! EFF!

In conclusion: Butte, I love you, but you have got to get your act together. Teach Sam and Max how to dance and how to like it, and then maybe we'll talk.

sans folk makes me sad

soooooooooooooooooooooooo i dunno about you guys but i spend the entirety of my day on facebook and this blog. it's not because i'm a fat lazy pig who has no friends in real life (trust me, given the chance i would be on a mountaintop and i'm really jealous of max right now). mostly it's due to the fact that i have a kushy desk job that allows me to sit inside a posh, air-conditioned office on my ass aaaaaalllll day long (bonus-i also get to bring my dog to work). and my netflix account has just run out so i'm conditioned to check my profile every twenty minutes.

facebook is a glorious tool. it has allowed me to re-connect in a way that myspace prohibited me from doing because i would look up long lost friends and see the shit that they had pasted all over their profiles and immediately click the "back" button. things like kim kardashian lying naked facedown on a beach somewhere (not in the dead fish kind of way, more like the sultry eyes kind of way) or what looks to be a hello kitty barf-a-thon. facebook has none of this nonsense. it's safe. anyhoo, the point being that now i know what every single person i have ever met is up to at any given moment. and guess what all the butte kids are jabbering about? you got it. fucking folk fest. and it sounds like a blast. i personally have never experienced it. because i'm lame and what not. but this year i was really hoping to get in on the fun. the problem is, i can't ever ever ever get an extra day off. it seems as though every single co-worker of mine has had like, a massive amount of time off this year to do stupid shit like go to ten year high school reunions and mother-in-law birthdays (seriously? who gets days off for that kind of shit?). but when olivia needs a day off to say, move all her shit out of her ex-boyfriend's house (which i still have not done and i've been living out of a backpack for the last three weeks) or take her dog to the vet, pay bills, go to the last year of folk fest and other important shit like work on my tan, it's a no-go. sorry dude, but you totally have to stand there with a smile on your face while we shove this huge baton up your ass. i mean, i totally have sunday off anyway, which means i could go, except for the fact that my sister planned my nephew's first birthday on that day. i'm genuinely thinking about not showing up because all of my sisters are certifiably crazy and they probably are going to bombard me with questions about shit that i'd rather leave buried in the deep recesses of my skull. and who remembers their first birthday anyway? i'm gonna buy him a disney movie. and kids don't care if you're there, they care only about what's underneath the paper. at least that's my justification. so i will put it to a vote. GSS.... do i go to my nephew's birthday party and end up smoking weed in my car all day in order to get through the whole thing? does that make me soulless? or do i come up with some lame-ass excuse and go enjoy the debauchery that is folk fest with a shit ton of people i haven't seen in ten years? i'll let you decide. whichever gets the most votes wins. that way i can blame any outcome on you guys and sleep at night.

sam-thanks for the extra bed, man. and the rad drawing in the morn.

max- your cannibalism quote went over well with all my bozeman friends.

jules- i'm in awe.

The 28th Ammedment: Freedom of singing, climbing, drinking, and painting

In true Max fashion, I'll share my 3rd/4th of July reflections far too late for them to be in any way, shape, or form, relevant. In my mind, the 3rd was a great success because we ended it in a sing-along in which at least 67% of the participants were on a chair or table, said participants knew at least 80% of the words (after searching through Julia's post it shouldn't be too hard to guess which songs we sang), and 100% of those participating could not keep a tune and had a BAC high enough to prevent them from operating a pair of shoes, let alone drive a car.

Whilst my friends watched TV during the day of the fourth, my family, some family friends, and I climbed Mt. Fleecer and from the top we could identify 15 (fifteen!) differnt mountain ranges. Seeing the majestic beauty of these peaks made me question how I could ever think staying in town and drinking was fun when I could just as easily go out and explore these wonderful mountains.

Of course, we spent that night in town, drinking. However, we were graced with the presence of Mike and his wonderful fiance, Hannah. After giving Hannah shit for her suggesting a drink that was in his opinion 'too girly', Mike promptly ordered himself, me, and Sam Long Island iced tea's while Hannah ordered a 20 (twenty!) oz. beer and put us all to shame. Sometimes the universe just goes backward on itself.

We exercised our American freedom that night and infiltrated a building where our pal Olivia ( a different Olivia than our fine blog commentator) had begun a canvas painting of a melting desert road billowing off the edge of the earth. Or at least that's what was on the canvas after our gaggle of inebriated (and at times shoeless) artists had a go with the paint.

The most adorable moment of the night was Sam and Hannah getting all googly-eyed with eachother because they are artists and love Mac's and Macintosh things.