I had this big plan to sit down today and write up a storm. But then I got struck down with a migraine of biblical proportions, and ended up spending most of the day holding my head in a vice-like grip to make sure my brain wasn’t leaking out.

The migraine left my brain addled, and now my thoughts feel as scattered as a fart in the wind, my friends.

We haven’t moved into the new apartment yet. We’re still in the process of cleaning it, and finding the treasures that the previous tenants left behind for us.

So far, we’ve found:

~ a stale cigar

~ tiny bits of marijuana sprinkled randomly throughout the apartment

~ 2 cans of beans

~ an onion

~ a package of Uncle Ben’s rice

~ a green pot! Which actually looks nice! However, when we looked in the oven to see how dirty it was, there were large gobs of black grease and big patches of hair splattered throughout which resembled what might happen if you were to broil your cat. Now we are quite leery of said pot’s history.

~ a giant pictorial of the ancient Babylonian symbol for fertility and good fortune: A squirrel with ginormous nuts.

~ a sticker on the fridge (which might explain the aformentioned bits of marijuana):

~ and my favourite; a tiny sign on the underside of the toilet lid reading: Toilet Camera Used for Scientific Study Only

There is no fan in the bathroom of the new apartment. This is going to be a problem for me. I don’t enjoy having others around me acoustically share my private interludes with the toilet. Likewise, I’m not looking forward in experiencing the sound of someone else’s bathroom antics reverberate throughout the tiny space we like to call home.

Hey girls. Ever listen to a man pee before? For God’s sake, how do they build up that much pressure? My favourite is when they’re peeing, peeing, peeing, then...a moment of silence...then splash! They’re peeing some more. And you KNOW they goddamn just hit the seat.

I’m aware that occasionally, it happens. I know this. Yet, I have no proof, so I can pretend that it doesn’t, and that I don’t ever sometimes sit in stale old boy’s pee. But knowing because you HEARD it happen? That’s a different story.

The other day, one of my friends needed some advice.

Friend: Ryan, how do you know when you’re in love?

Ryan: *appearing to be in deep contemplation* Well, you feel like you have to pee. It’s this...feeling...you get, right around here. *makes general hand gestures towards his crotch*

Excuse me? Okay, I admit, maybe my cooking is sometimes so bad that it could cause incontinence, but my love and affection? Surely you jest!

Alright, let’s get off this topic of peeing, of which stories I seem abundantly full of this evening.

The other day at the restaurant where I work, while explaining what the specials were to a bunch of people taking their seats at a table, I managed to gouge myself in the eye with the sharp corner of the appetizers menu. And, smooth girl that I am, I screamed, “GAH!”, grabbed my face, and dropped the pile of menus to the floor.

Immediately upon returning to the hostess desk, I attempted to answer the telephone and thwacked myself in the forehead with the receiver.

They let me go home early that day.

Mind you, I’ve been very distracted lately. The reason?

My mom went in for some tests this week. When I think about them, I get a cold feeling in my chest. I’m hoping that everything will turn out fine. Will you hope along with me?

Happy St. Patrick’s Day! And happy birthday, Andrew.