Oh hi.

So my lack of writing can almost wholly be attributed to the fact that I've spent the last two weeks trying frantically to re-finish a side table and bookcase rescued from the depths of my grandparent's basement. The scraping and sanding and inhaling of strong chemical strippers did wonders for my mental capacity. We used to tell ourselves in college that the brain cells we killed were clearly the weaker ones and therefor just making space for the stronger ones to survive and multiply. That theory is total bullshit.

Minor setbacks aside, I should be finished with the bookcase this weekend. The side table, well, that one is a little bitch. The first round of stain on the top looked horrible due to some experimenting that went horribly wrong. So I had to re-strip it yet this time around the stain seemed to eat the stripper and wouldn't come off. So I had to sand large stubborn sections forever. Which is probably why my shoulder is hurting, you know that bitch shoulder that has been bothering me for months.*

Yet tomorrow is going to be perfect weather and I'm not going to be working on any of these projects. Instead I'm going to be flinging my body from an airplane. This, my friends, is not hyperbole. I am actually going to be doing it and I absolutely cannot wait. I've wanted to go sky diving for years and round and round we've made mythical plans to do it. A couple of months ago I decided it was time for us to stop pussyfooting around and set a date. This is the year of action.

Full report to come tomorrow or very soon after.

*I finally did have that shoulder looked at and am currently doing some physical therapy. I should be better according to them in mid-july.

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I blame the champagne.

It seemed to start like all birthday dinners that we have been having lately go: nice restaurant, everyone brings a bottle of wine and we commence with the eating and drinking and celebrating. But it took a turn right about the time I opened the bottle of Domaine St. Michelle I brought.

I'm a lady who prides herself on her ability to open champagne bottles properly, hell I've opened bottle after bottle while riding in cars with nary a drop spilled. It's my badge of honor, champagne bottle opener girl. I waited a good thirty minutes after I got to the restaurant to open the bottle so any shaking it would have gotten while I trudged up several hills should have subsided. But as I removed the little metal capper thing the cork shot skyward and of course champagne started spraying everywhere.

I'll admit I panicked and clamped my hand over the top of the bottle thus creating a sprinkler effect and effectively giving everyone around me (including those not with our group) a bit of dousing (oxymoron, yes). I'm so unbelievably embarrassed for bringing the champagne sprinkler to the restaurant, which in theory sounds like an awesome idea, I'd like a champagne sprinkler right now. I profusely apologized to those around us and really do hope they didn't leave the restaurant cursing 'that bitch who doesn't know how to open champagne'.

From there on out the rest of the evening was a bit of tipsy blurr. At some point early on I told the story of the guy at the BMV who's hair looked like a Velociraptor, from then on I would randomly put my hands to the back of my head and wiggle my fingers while making a screeching sound. Everyone would laugh and that only encouraged me more.

Then I won the Irish Car Bomb Race, regardless of what Kate has to say about the matter. The prize? Another Irish Car Bomb, which is awesome. What follows Irish Car Bombs? Ridiculous photos of you and your friends, possibly involving lots of cleavage. Photos that will never ever see the light of day, that is unless you were there in person to witness our tipsy behavior. Because said behavior was taking place right in the middle of the most popular bar in our town, so I'm sure many people got to see that show.

Random aside: As I was walking to the restaurant, up those multiple hills, I caught site of my bottom in the reflective surface of a store front window. I'm sincerly hoping that it was combination of the dress, my underwear and walking up a hill that made my butt look like that. I was mesmerized and a touch horrified, my bottom looked very round and bouncy, protruding more than I'd like.

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