Once you leave home, you can never go back...well you can, you just have to be half in the bag.

Happy belated E-weekend (Easter weekend)!  

Happy belated E-day (Earth Day)! 

And Happy almost E-day (Election day)!

This past weekend I decided to take a trip to my hometown Winnipeg, Manitoba. I don’t know about the rest of the world, but I LOVE flying. (Is it because of the feeling of freedom you get from flying above the world for a few hours? Maybe.  Is it the idea of however much you drink before and during your flight being amplified ten-fold and you being able to get away with anything because (similarly to the idea of “international- water”) you are in international water-air?  YES.  YES IT IS.)  So in keeping with the theme of the weekend (the theme being drinking wine and going mental...) I am writing this blog on the airplane while drinking some lovely red table wine.  Let’s see how this goes...

Glass number 1:

Going home for me is always the best gong-show of my life.  Somehow it seems that because I am only home for a short period of time I end up seeing my family at their craziest (which is an almost deadly amount for most, not for me though!).  There will be wine, food, laughs, gross jokes, awkward moments (this usually follows the wine...) where family secrets get exposed (my cousin has a baby?!?  HA!  YEAH!  SECRETS!)

This time was no different.  I told members of my extended family all of the hilarious attempts my mom has made to get me to “find a man who can support you and your crazy artistic ways” ... I shall only give one example, and it was the introduction to my life with my mother:

I was 16.  My mother asked me to go with her to a social (don’t know what a social is?  If you don’t, YOU HAVEN’T LIVED.  Also, it is just a big party at a community hall where people drink and eat chips and dance and bid on silent auction prizes an drink and drink.  And usually the money made from that goes towards a wedding or something lame)

Glass number 2:

Shall we get this out of the way now?  When I was 16, I looked an awful lot like a soccer mom (more so than I do now, if you can believe that).  I didn’t have a heck-load of friends, and I LOVED school.  I was a complete loser, some would say (“Look at me now” Is what I would scream to them, then I would hold up a picture of my cats and wipe the tears from my face)

At this social was a bunch of my mother’s co-workers.  And I had a few drinks (I won’t lie, I started early with my love for wine.  AND LOOK WHERE I AM NOW!)  And I was a dancing FREAK.  People must’ve thought that my mom’s best friend (ie. ME) was just a partying superfreak.  And I was.  Then the slow song came on (I’ll never forget it, The Beatles “Let It Be”) and a lovely man asked me to dance.  

WHAT?!?

Here I am, the girl who is 16 years old, never kissed a boy, a girl who was certain she would marry a wrestler from the WWF (Rowdy Roddy Piper or Brett Hart to be exact) about to dance with a grown man.  

THIS IS MY ONE SHOT AT LOVE.  DON’T BLOW IT, WALKER.

So I dance with this guy, and after that song is done is THE LAST SONG OF THE NIGHT.

WHAT?!?

Glass numbwr 3:: 

(IT’s getting hardder to type.  With the planes, and the drinks.  Just saying...)

What happens after this song is over? (The song, by the way was Journey’s “Open Arms”.  A classic love song.) As the song ended, the lovely man says to me,

“I’d love to see you again; could I ask you on a date?”

And to which I reply, “You’d have to ask my mom” 

As I point to my mother, standing proudly, watching her daughter “fall in love”.

That lovely man had all the colour drain from his face.

He was so close to statutorily dating me it was scary.  

Later did I realize that my mother told him he should ask me to dance, without adding I was (a) her daughter or (b) a minor.  Neither of this fazed good ol’ mommy.  THIS is just one awesome example of the stories weshare at in opportune times with my famil.y.  

Neddleless to say, it was a fun time.

Glass numbe r4: 

...

Glass n 5:

Sorrry bout htat.. I was looking out the wind ow that last glass.  I wish I could tell time by glas;ses of wines.  “It’s four glasses of wines passt noon”  That is now my official my catchhgphrase.  

I thmnk I ned a a nap.

I reaslly lorve you guysm.  Yous know that, right?!

Whrees’ the baarf bag?  Jusst incase..

I hsould go now.  Did I mention I loves you gutys? 

Sincerely from 3000000000 fett up in the aiir (sr somethings like that) ,

Someonw who should not be drunk flying/bloggin./living//