I Really Want to hear Rock You Like a Hurricane by the Scorpions right now

Good evening peeps. Well, yet again I have nothing to say, but yet I still sit here and type. Margo, bless her little heart, gave me a pity comment today because she didn't want to discourage me. Ah, sweet, sweet Margo. Now if she'd get her ass in gear and write something. Damn her! So I am downloading some Fleetwood Mac right now - oh shut up, self righteous ones, I own probably 20 FM cds, plus most of them on vinyl, plus on cassette, and of course the solo albums and 45s - they were my obsession since I was 8. So, I've kept Stevie in chiffon for many a year. Well, I am listening to tracks from Say You Will, their last album from a couple years ago, and the fucking thing is so damn good I just can't figure out what the hell was stuck up Christine McVie's ass that made her quit the group and not contribute to the last album. She looked so frigging bitchy in the DVD for The Dance, so I dunno what her problem was, but I mean, why quit at this point of your life - the damn group only gets together every 6 years or so. Crazy-ass mofo, she is....
So I just did something terrible and didn't mean to do it. There was this news report from Seattle saying that this guy went and tried to break up a fight between his mother and stepfather and he got shot and died. Well, then they cut to the aunt who is speaking, and apparently, I snickered. Rachel says "did you snicker?" and I said "well, I guess, but you know..." and she was all "um, no" and I didn't mean nothing by it, but it was just the aunt was the stereotypical trailer lady, and I dunno - I feel like an asshole now. Why do I admit to this stuff here anyway? I should be saying I bathe the dirty, or changing the bandages of those people who chop their limbs off (sorry, can't get last night's Primetime out of my head).
So, does anyone else ever feel like they don't know anything? I felt very dumb yesterday. I was talking with a couple people at work and they were going on and on about stuff, and I mean, I had no idea what the hell they were talking about. First, they were talking about oil and Fort Mac and I chimed up with my "why don't we have that oil, it's close to the Sask. border and the dinosaurs didn't stop dying at the border" (sounds pretty impressive, huh?). Well, then old Barney, who is a scientist, says something about how there is so much oil in the sand, but it's so expensive to take it out of the sand, and I was nodding my head but really thinking "sand? what sand? There's oil in the sand?" but of course, I acted like I was all in the know about this oily sand in northern Sask. And then they were all "we'll NEVER run out of oil, NEVER, it's just a lie because Fort Mac has blah blah blah" and I mean, how does one know enough to assert such a thing? Then the convo got onto the stock markets and they were talking about how they do this and that and I mean, I have no clue what they are talking about . Then someone asked what someone else's RRSP's were invested in, if it was resources or something, and I mean, I don't know anything like that, I just get money taken off my cheque and hope the bank is doing whatever with it. So, I felt dumb.
Which reminds me of the first time Margo and me ever heard the word "Fax machine". It was like 1988 or 89 I think, and the two of us, along with this weird, sort of shut-in rich girl we'll call, oh, let's call her Lori Goose, drove to North Battleford one winter night to watch our friend, let's call him Pee Wee, play hockey. Or at least I think that's what we were doing. Anyway, NB is a 2 hour drive away on a desolate, narrow fucking highway. So we went, and I went to visit a friend, because it was always too painful to watch Pee Wee play, because he was so awkward and spastic, God love him. Anyway, after the game, we of course pick up a shitload of beer because we are going to party when we get back to town (even though it would be like 1 am when we got back - we never really thought things out). So, it's snowing like a motherfucker when we get ready to leave, and we can barely stay on the road, so me in the backseat decides to get into the beer - and of course I get completely fucked up right quick. Well, we make it out of the snow, and we stop at this gas station halfway home, and since we are all at least half snapped by then, we decide to call home to tell everyone we are alive and made it through the storm. So, Lori Goose goes first to phone, and I go take a much needed pee. Well, Lori's parents were all la dee da and rich business people, and they had a fax machine in their house. This was when fax machines were just newish and we had never heard the term. Well, apparently, Lori tries to call her parents but can't get through because the fax machine is on. So she hangs up the phone and all she says to Margo is "the fax machine's on" and walks away and I walk up. As I am all liquored up, I am anxious to call home and tell my folks we made it through the harrowing storm and probably tell them how much I love them (I was one of those yappy "I love you guys" drunks), and I go to pick up the phone and Margo looks at me and says "oh - the fax machine's on" and I look at her and then look at the phone and say "oh". So I start thinking "The fax machine" is like some sort of machine they put on pay phones at night or something and thus you can't use it. So, we stare at it for a while and try to process where the machine is on this phone, and then I think "Fax machine be damned, I will try my call". So, I pick up the phone, dial my collect call, get my dad out of bed and proclaim "we are safe! we made it" and turns out it wasn't even snowing at home, nor did he know I was out of town, and we get back in the car, all full of wonder that I got a call through even though the fax machine was on the pay phone. I dunno how long it was until we figured out what a fax machine actually was - ah, good times....
Margo, Lori Goose lives in Cowtown now - you should look her up. You could relive the "infamous Goose hot tub parties" - lol, another thing - Lori Goose had a huge house, but she didn't have a hot tub - just a big bathtub that could fit 4 people with jets. And we'd get all drunk and hop in the tub, 4 or 5 of us (with bathing suits, or underwear at least, you dirty beggars!). How hillbilly is that - "Let's all go bath at the Goose house tonight! She's got them there bubble jets in the tub!" And she'd always talk about the "infamous Goose hot tub parties", even though there was no hot tub.... but I guess we should cut her some slack, since she was a shut-in basically. And you know, Lori Goose and Pee Wee were best friends - inseparable for years - and then somehow they thought they should date, so they shacked up and dated but it ended terribly, I think because (so I've heard) that she just couldn't sleep with Pee Wee because he was just so gross, and they never spoke again. Oh, I wish I could just give character summaries of the different people we've known. Margo, should we do a 6 degrees of "the Whore" - give a character bio of her and all who crossed her path that we can remember? We could talk about when we met her, and the three boyfriends who didn't know about each other, and the girlfriends, and the threesomes and foursomes with her and hairy Heather and the fat man, and the married swinger couple from Nipawin, and of course, our favorite hillbilly siblings - would that be interesting, to talk about all those freaks, since I was just an alcoholic observer of all of this, and not party to the debauchery? Would that be at all interesting, or would it make us seem even less normal than we are, to talk about that stuff?
LOL, maybe I will go into those memories tomorrow night, starting with the night you met her, when I couldn't use a tow rope skiing and had to walk up the hill, and hangin' with "Poof with the olive green eyes" who later would "drive her dead sister's car".
Anyway, sorry for rambling on about memories only Margo and I know - but I think I could make some of that shit a really interesting read...
Have a good Saturday y'all - I gotta get my fat ass to bed. Diet's back on tomorrow!
Word to your mother.