Hello, Autumn! When Did You Get Here?

Sorry I wasn't around much last week. Wedding planning is slowly sucking out my soul. Fortunately, it's a it's a sparkly, flowers and tiara-laden soul-sucking, thus making it slightly more bearable.

I would have written something over the weekend, but it was my bachelorette party, so... I wasn't really sober enough to type. Plus, I was up in the mountains, drinking pink champagne and sitting in a hot tub and watching chick flicks, so I was a soggy, sappy mess, as well. And in one of the few moments of sobriety (10:00 AM, post Starbucks run, pre-liquor store run) I decided we should go on a little hike and be healthy and get some fresh mountain air and whatnot, so I drove my car up to this trail head and went over a tiny (crater-sized) pothole and bottomed out quite badly and then there was a horrible cracking sound a couple moments later and then it sounded like I was driving a hot rod. I got out and concluded that I had indeed crumpled my muffler to the point that the large metal can had a hole TORN INTO IT, and so, you know, not good. Of course, there aren't too many mechanics open on a Sunday morning in the mountains, so I got to drive my screaming Honda Civic back down to Denver, where I pried the keys out of a moaning Funasaurus' hand (he also had his bachelor party this weekend, and was curled up in the fetal position on the couch when I got home) and exchanged them for his nice, not-so-noisey car and went to a bridal shower for another friend.

When I got home, The Funasaurus had managed to order himself some Pizza Hut, so we cuddled and watched Terminator 3 and compared stories. The Funasaurus had a quite excellent time playing volleyball all day with a bunch of stinky boys, and then they showered and went out to sing karaoke, (as you may remember, a favorite pastime of The Funasaurus) whereupon they bequeathed him prettty much the awesomest shirt ever. I don't have a picture, but it is not hard to explain. You just have to know that The Funasaurus loves Journey with unbridled passion.

On the front it says, “Steve Perry is my hero.”

On the back it says, “Don't stop believin'”

awesome.

So anyway, I was feeling rather pleased with his whole bachelor party, right until I took my little germ-a-phobe self upstairs to get ready for bed. Whereupon I had a little breakdown upon entering the bathroom.

Whichever of you fuckheads decided that it would be a good idea to wiped your grass-stained stinky man feet on my NEW WHITE TOWELS FROM MY BRIDAL SHOWER THAT HAVE CUTE LITTLE KITTY FACES EMBROIDERED IN THE CORNER should feel warned that you will die a horrid and misery-filled death as soon as I find out who you are.

Also, thanks for not rinsing out MY SHOWER with all the dirt you somehow still had on you, despite the vast quantities tracked in over my bedroom carpet.

There's an extra special hell just waiting for you. Just FYI.

...

And me and my Lysol wipes will be waiting for you there.

Otherwise, great weekend! Now it's back to running and switching the air from air conditioning to the heater because suddenly the 90 degree days are gone and Sugar was a bit shivery this morning when the household temperature crept under her comfort threshold of 71.

Happy fall!