Good Morning, ladies!
I am enjoying this beautiful inversion-free SLC day. Not to mention it’s Friday and I have a new blondie blonde haircut. It’s a good day.
Bails I’m so sorry to hear about your Prius. It doesn’t seem like we have very good luck with cars. Maybe it runs in the family (along with killer good looks and a high tolerance for alcohol). To answer your question, No. I don’t know how much a new bumper costs, but I don’t think you’re going to like the answer when you find out. But your birthday is coming up and I’m sure your parents will oblige. (Do you ever get embarrassed that we’re twenty-middle and still getting rescued financially (and otherwise) by our parents?… Me either.)
The idiot who hit me in the parking lot’s insurance company has agreed to fix my Prius. Getting hit three times in two months is so unfair. They say everything happens in three’s but then you’re constantly waiting for the other shoe(s) to drop. I prefer isolated incidents that never happen again.
How was your weekend without us, Bridget?
San Diego was warm and wonderful as per usual. We biked and hiked and almost got hit by a train, we partied and superbowled and most notably, watched QDW make a drunken fool out of herself. In between telling stories of her boyfriend she would sit on brother Jon’s lap and aggressively flirt with his friends. I ended up cock-blocking (AKA: helping her not cheat on her boyfriend) which was a wildly unpopular move.
While fun, this trip was more stressful than usual which gives me anxiety. Spending that much time with my family makes me happy that I have such an outrageous bunch to call my own, but also pretty certain that I couldn’t live at home again.
Sometimes my life feels like the movie, Orange County
with Colin Hanks (remember how many times the song, Butterfly
by Crazy Town played in that movie?). I’m the Colin Hanks character, my mom is the mom character (to a T, old boyfriend and all), my brother is the Jack Black character but in Law School and my Dad is Clark Griswold from The National Lampoon movies.
My dad made us hand wash every dish in his sink last weekend even though he has a working dishwasher. He uses the same TV he bought in 1994 even though he has a 50-in HDTV sitting in a box in the garage, and up until last month used dial up internet and Windows ’94 (I guess he was really in to technology in 1994).
My mom cried when she learned we parked her car at the bar. She “retired” last year from… (I still can’t figure it out, the last job she had was in 2001), and ordered a bottle of wine plus an extra glass for the table at brunch. There were three of us.
My brother was an undergrad for 7 years at three universities, lived in Australia for an extra month after missing 3 flights home (Bridget, you and I met his cronies down under and it’s no wonder. They were a special breed of hippies.), didn’t have a driver’s license for 9 years due to numerous violations yet still managed to finish at the top of his law school class this year.
I know, they’re pretty great. I love them more than anything and miss them terribly but due to their neurotic behavior, when I move back to San Diego this year I’ll seriously be looking for my own place.
Armed with rocks from my glass house,
*Picture courtesy of National Lampoon, inc. The Griswolds are my favorite dysfunctional family.