My armpit hurts, you guys.  It feels like it is going to just fall right out from between my arm and whatever the rest of that junk is called – my body, I guess. Pray for me…that my pit will remain and the soreness is not some awful form of cancer wished upon me by my enemies.

On Sunday I returned from a small vacation spent down in Portland with my lady who was NOT on vacation because that’s where she lives.  My relationship is one of those fancy long-distance ones, with weeknights spent alone in bed, crying and feeling lonely (this is not actually true.  I can’t cry because my antidepressants make it impossible).  Actually, I think we both manage to handle the distance amazingly well because the key to a successful long-distance relationship is being okay alone and sleeping with whoever you want when you’re not together.  DO NOT TELL HER THAT BECAUSE WE DID NOT AGREE IT WAS OKAY.

At this point we are both intimately familiar with the three-plus hour drive up and down I-5 to one another’s home.  I can tell you which towns and cities have which fast food restaurants and gas station and where the outlet malls are.  I can also tell you that when you’re driving home at midnight on a Sunday, the cops aren’t going to catch you going 95mph over that bridge WHEE!  Also, if you’re driving home at 4am on a Monday morning and you’re too tired to go anymore, the rest stop outside of Olympia is a nice place for a short nap. I recently discovered the joy of the iPhone’s Hulu app for listening to episodes of Parks and Recreation while I whiz past semi truck after semi truck.

While I’m talking about driving I’d like to discuss the importance of getting out of my way.  IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT YOU GET OUT OF MY WAY.  I have high blood pressure and your slow driving makes it worse and when I have a heart-stroke-attack and careen into the forest and get thrown from the car and eaten by a bear, I want you to know it could have been prevented if you had just moved to the right like you’re supposed to because THE LEFT LANE IS FOR PASSING ONLY.

Until Valerie and I met, I had never been to Portland, which most people find ridiculous when I say that because it’s so close.  It’s like living in California and saying you’ve never been to Disneyland, except instead of cartoon characters and a castle, Portland has dirty hippies and a fenced off field full of goats.  Portland is actually a very sweet city and its downtown is charming.  It has beautiful parks, old buildings, a waterfront and decent public transportation.  It’s smaller than Seattle, with fewer skyscrapers, and though I don’t know what I expected to find when I got there, I can say that I like it much more than I thought I would and probably not only because my gay lady lives there.  With her fine ass.

In late October we participated in a 5k race called Run Like Hell where participants dressed like zombies.  We were late because Valerie had to perfect her makeup by rubbing her face on the grass outside her house and eating her neighbors dog. We were so late that, in fact, we were the last ones to cross the starting line by a good five minutes.  They were about to pull the plug on the timer and we had to haul ass across to activate our chips.  I’d like to suggest to future race course designer that maybe you not start a race on a hill, specifically on the incline, because it makes me grumpy.  Being late and that incline and the stress of having to catch up and not be last caused us to have our first mini fight because it was early and we were behind and they were opening streets to traffic and I am a terrible person.  It went something like this:

Valerie: Let’s run to catch up.  I don’t want to be last.

Linsey:  You can go without me.  It’s okay.

V: I’m not going to go without you.  We can catch up, come on.

L: GO WITHOUT ME!  I’ll just lay here in the road and die.

After we finished, we gathered in a park and ate snacks and candy and took some awkward photos because it’s pretty clear that I don’t know how to make a mean zombie face without looking like I’m a special needs zombie.  But I *CAN* make a smiley face because that’s how this zombie rolls.  I will charm you with my smiles and when you let me in I will eat your face.

For Halloween we were going to meet up with Valerie’s friend Alex and go to a pub crawl.  We settled on a group costume of the characters from Scooby Doo.  Valerie was Velma, Alex was Fred and I was the Mystery Machine because nothing says “fatty in a costume” like someone dressing up as an entire vehicle.  That said, my costume was amazing.  I built the structure out of foam board and spray painted it aqua.  I took it to my parents house to show off and ask my dad for help, and he loaned me his suspenders to hold it up.  My mom found some little temporary lights to use as headlights and suddenly my silly little costume was a family project that everyone was excited about.  I was pretty sure that by the time we were finished it would drive itself and solve the world’s greatest mysteries with some on-board computer system my dad casually whipped up in his spare time.  We’re a family of nerds and we’re awesome.  I left it with my dad for a night and when I came back, the head and tail lights were attached, it had wheels, a dashboard and a fresh coat of paint.

I took the Mystery Machine to Portland and we spent an entire day detailing the hell out of it, which was mostly me hot gluing on anything I could find because hot glue guns are my new favorite thing to play with.  I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before I burn my hand off or set the couch on fire with one.  Meanwhile, Valerie attached the logo letter by letter in an incredibly hot display of anal retentiveness.  The finished product was pretty much the best costume I’ve ever seen in my life.  Try not to be jealous…

I won’t bother to go into detail about the various struggles we went through to get that thing into and out of the car.  Or how some kids dressed as ninjas beat it with their swords at a party we went to.  It’s okay.  I ran them over.  Mystery Machine doesn’t take abuse from anyone!

I spent Halloween at my mom and dad’s house to celebrate my dad’s 70th birthday and I brought the Mystery Machine along with me.  My dad wore it to show off to some kids as they came to the door.  He honked and flashed his headlights and threatened to run them down if they walked on his lawn.  Then he threw their candy in the street.  Not really.  He did wear it but the rest is lies that I made up because it’s more fun to imagine my dad terrorizing children and throwing Tootsie Pops at kids in the street than what he was doing which was telling kids to “Please take more than one piece!  We have three more bags! Happy Halloween!”  See?  Not as exciting.  They kept the costume because no one could stomach the idea of destroying it.  They’re going to store it in the garage until Tiny Michael or Baby Nixon can wear it one day and ask…What the hell is a Mystery Machine and who the fuck is Scooby Doo?  They’ll swear because that’s what i plan on teaching them…just doing my part as a good auntie.

Anyhoo…that’s part of what I’ve been up to so when you’re coming up in here and seeing I’ve not updated in a while, just imagine I’m driving back an forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth between Portland and Seattle.  And sometimes, in between the back and forth, I’m playing XBox Kinect and flapping my arms around, making an ass of myself.  Good times!

P.S.  I realize I didn’t manage to talk about crabs and ants.  It’ll have to wait until later…but I have some important information to share.  Soon.

[VIA]

( Thanks, Jennifer :* )