Nick says he won’t download the cds I found online, until I tell LJland about how he beat my ass in Crash Team Racing, tonight.

Even though he beat me by under a SECOND, and I already had 2 wins before he won the 4th round, which SHOULD HAVE MEANT A TIE.

But no. His gay ass polar bear racer was standing on the first place pedestal, and I was on the 2nd place one, crying.



sweet it is
Potter season is back, and I’ve been making Brad watch the movies with me. He says, “Now you have to watch Lord Of the Rings.”



On Thursday, Jason was nice enough to pick me up and hang out. We passed a fairly large yard sale, where I bought an excellent Muppet Caper drinking glass from the year I was born. In town, we caught the final showing of Batman Begins (a big fuck you to everyone who insisted I miss it, cause it was good), had ice cream at The Spotted Cow (which should seriously consider going global) and went swimming in his backyard. Cooler still, I was handed a dozen DVDs of foreign film goodness, and the uncensored Kill Bill Vol. I. Yayness.

The alarm went off Friday morning and we had the quickest breakfast from Bob Evans that I’ve ever been served; six to eight minutes after ordering, our meals were in front of us. That afternoon, we hit some tourist attractions. Mystery Hill is built to look like it’s straight up and down, but is actually put together on a steep slope, making everyone appear to be standing at impossible angles. Our guide was a high school girl who walked out and pushed a button overhead, playing an old recording about how the mystery had to do with different minerals in the ground – an enjoyable cheesiness we took in while trying to maintain our balance through the rooms of the house, watching water run uphill.

One of the spots we wanted to hit was actually closed and up for sale, a sad discovery when Jason had been looking forward to reliving more of his childhood. The Prehistoric Forest was rundown, overgrown with weeds with lots of chained fences visible from the road. Large dinosaurs stood out front, their paint chipping, a sad, slow death for something so gigantic. Last night, I dreamed there was a Brontosaurus sculpture in my front yard, certainly a legend living on.

Stagecoach Stop is made to look like an 1800’s saw mill and then some (one minute you’re walking through the arcade part, running your hand over an old piano, and then a few seconds later you’re in a saloon, kinda deal), one of the largest collections of old stuff you’ll see in Michigan. There was a petting zoo where Jason coaxed a llama over to eat his ice cream cone and wheats, and I had a black goat following me, nudging my leg with its front hoof, tail wagging. We witnessed a gun fight in town, rode a train that was held up, stayed for an old fashioned magic show, and had our names printed on the front page of newspapers.

On the journey back, we checked out some disappointing sidewalk sales and visited a microbrewery, The Webberville Michigan Brewing Company. It was a lot of activity to cover in just two days, so I was pretty worn out by Friday. Brad had come up for the weekend, noticing a nugget of Fools gold in the aquarium and a Sheriff badge on my shirt.

Blair stopped by Saturday and helped me get the go-karts running, actually tweaking the “slow” one to be faster than the other. I swept a tunnel through the pine trees while the boys collected firewood. We sat on the picnic table, a bunch of us who hadn’t been together in quite a while. It’s good to know that some things aren’t history.