with dreams of sugar pumpkins dancing in her head

She wanted to sleep with the pumpkin last night.

She cried and crouched down by her bedroom door to cry out "pummmmmmmkin.... want pummmmmmmmmmkin".

It's that kind of crying that really gets me.

I'm sure you know which one I'm talking about. It's that cry-sob with shaky words. The one where she really, really, REALLY, wants something and you know that deep down - somewhere in between thinking about how to score more chocolate and asking to watch more tv - she just knows she isn't going to get it what she is asking for.

It's a sad, sad sound.

But I didn't give in. No pumpkin(s) slept with her. I easily refused to give into her cries because I knew today will be a completely "spoil thy child" kind of day.

Today she will discover that the odds are in her favour for accomplishing some of her dreams.

I know for a fact that she probably will get hopped up on sugar and completely OD candy & chocolate from numerous, often undetected and unseen sources (old folks in building, the guy at the store who always slips her gum, and the like) and she will probably get some extra tv while mommy runs around trying to finish her costume because I'm that kinda parent.

My name is neither Martha or Stewart - and that is a good thing. I'd never make it out of this house alive if I woke up as Martha. The new "it's a f***in' good thing*" Motherbumper Stewart would probably die of exhaustion trying to get the grout clean in the bathroom (an impossible and proven to be a doomed mission).
* trademarked by the motherbumper corporation

Anyhow, Bumper will probably get chocolate, tv, and knowing my luck - she will get to cart around that damn pumpkin all day long.

I wonder if I'll need a double stroller or should I just stick it in the Bjorn?

Hey - I'm curious, has anyone out there ever know anyone (or a half-sister of a friend of friend of your second cousin twice removed) that found a razor blade in an apple? I've always wondered if that was as wide-spread as the warnings we heard as kids or just a nasty rumour started by the candy industry.

our actual pumpkin: carved by SB

I hope all your candy corn laden dreams come true.

Oh yes, and Emmett was flattered by your concerns regarding his recent illegal imprisonment.

No joke: on Monday night SB did a cat-sweep before leaving Bumper's room at bedtime and found the "I'm not fat, I'm big boned" portly Dallas wedged in the same drawer. I had closed that drawer about 15 minutes before the Dallas discovery and I swear [SWEAR!] that there was no cat(s) in the sock drawer. In fact, because of the previous nights antics, I actually looked for and found no cats.

So those feline offspring of ours either have a back entrance to the bureau or I'm just batshit crazy.

Just don't tell me what your answer would be - okay?

There is a new review up at motherbumper's laboratory - SquidSoap to encourage hand washing! What will they think of next?

panic drawer

Nothing like panic to greet you on a Monday morning.

As I dragged my lazy butt outta bed this morning, I heard SB talking to Bumper about the cats.

I could hear him asking Bumper where Emmett is. Emmett is our smallest, smartest, and sneakiest cat.

Bumper said she didn't know and started on her usual hunt, the hunt she does any time something is missing:

"Ehm-it - where are you? Where are you Ehm-it? Where are you?"

She will do this for her doll (tiny baby, where are you?), Me in the grocery store (MOMMY, WHERE ARE YOU?), or inanimate objects (playdough, where are you?). See her pattern? She has a low recovery rate but a lot of heart. BTW - playdough never EVER answers.

So here we are - Monday morning and I wake up to a search for the cat.

how many cats can you fit in a tiny box?

Let me back up folks: for those who don't know, we live in a postage stamp size apartment - it's super small and doesn't offer many places to hide - even when you only weigh five pounds soaking wet.

SB and I discuss the search for Emmett and quickly realize we hadn't seen the cat since dinner yesterday.

Yup - we are really REALLY great pet parents.

As all the usual hiding spots prove empty, we begin to panic. Did he somehow get out last night and now is facing the big bad world by himself? He's an apartment indoor cat, with no id, food or money.

How long will he last before he is targeted by some large chickenhawk tomcat who pimps him out after having him hooked on china white catnip while making empty promises of love? OMG HE WILL NOT SURVIVE!

SB keeps his wits about him and gets out the jar of cat treats. If shaking that jar doesn't bring E forth, well - that means he is long gone. I hold my breath in anticipation - we haven't exactly been having good luck and karma around these parts lately**.
** post worthy but I just shudder at writing about our bad karma right now - later folks

*shake, shake, shake* goes the bottle of cat treats

Nada, nothing. OMG poor little Emmett is definitely turning tricks as we speak - OMG what do we do?

I can see the worry on SB's face, he slowly walks around the apartment shaking the jar, as our other cat follows him around yelling "stop teasing me mo'fo'!".

When SB enters Bumper's room he hears something.

*muffled noise* mrrrrrrphhhhh *muffled movement* mrrrrrrrrphhhhhhhhh

Holy crap - the cat was trapped in Bumper's tightly closed sock drawer since at least 6pm yesterday.

More than 12 hours in a sock drawer - now that sucks.

leave me woman - I need to sleep after all that... umm... sleeping

Happy Monday Y'all!

Oh and how's this for shameless self-promotion? Wait... don't answer that, just keep reading:

Do you need a new banner or a button for your blog? Check out The Tool of the Matriarchy and maybe I can hook you up.

Now back to regular scheduled Monday programming.

hey kid, did you know you snore?

This week in motherbumperland

What have a I learned this week?

That I'm not alone reaction to this water bug and I have single-handedly frightened a whole bunch of bloggers in Ontario.

That an elbow to the kidneys or whatever body part is closest is the best way to deal with commuter rage. Damn! - so many of you are just brimming with sunshine and lollipops when it comes to annoying a*sh#les fellow mass transit travellers.

And that like me, you would like to see Elizabeth, & Meredith and the rest of The View as smashed pumpkins. And Elizabeth wasn't even immortalized in gourd - yet she was still a favourite.

This week makes me love you all that much more (well almost all of you, I'm sure there has to be one as*h*le in the bunch because stats just work that way... anyhoo...). So even though my lawyer advises against it, I might just have to come and personally hug each and everyone of you. Okay, I won't. But only because the judge agrees with my lawyer.

Oh and did I mention I was a total pain in the a*s for my parents when I was a kid? I was a completely out-of-control picky eater. If it wasn't deep fried or heaped with sugar, it probably wasn't going to pass my lips without an argument. Well because karma is very patient, I have been blessed with a toddler who won't eat vegetables except when the moon is in the Seventh House and Jupiter aligns with Mars or something like that.

Why mention this? Well I'm not a completely bad parent, so I'm always on the lookout for ways to get more nutritious food past those oft-locked toddler lips. Enter Delicious Deceptive and my chance to review it for The Parent Bloggers Network. Check it out - read what I've got to say and find out how you can win a $250 gift card to Williams Sonoma.

AND (oh yes, AND) check out Mission 3 that The League of Maternal Justice has taken on - they are total Toxin Avengers - oh yes, those ladies are rocking it again.


For your entertainment purposes, here is a little picture created by my hand, directed by Bumper's artistic flare. I present CROWS! created using one of the nifty kids programs on the Toronto Public Library sytem:

crows! (medium: computer) - Bumper, 2007

I don't know if that qualifies but I'll enter it anyway - Her Bad Mother has a contest going on where you can win prizes for showing off your kids art creations - contest ends today.

What do you think? Monkey with mace. Wizard in trucker hat. Do you think the crow pecking out the eyes too much?

If this doesn't scare you, what will?

The bug frightened me but if I saw these pumpkin carvings on a doorstep I'd either run away in horror or channel my inner teenager and smash the damn things.

Yes folks, they are freakin' pumpkins:

source

Which one would you smash first?

twist and shout

Don't push me 'cuz I'm close to the edge
I'm trying not to lose my head
Uh huh ha ha ha
It's like a jungle sometimes
It makes me wonder how I keep from goin' under

The Message - Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five

don't mess with my mom

When I first moved to Toronto, I was a bit intimidated by the subway... okay - hugely intimidated by the subway. Weekends and evening were fine - it was the crowded rush hours that made me shit my pants.

The mass of hostile commuters was completely overwhelming for a small town gal like me. How all these people could relinquish their personal space each and every day, just flummoxed me.

Seven years later, I'm completely over it.

Now you can call me the Queen Sardine. Queen Sardine with pepper.

Why am I telling you this?

Because I just got into a screaming fit with a "lady" *ahem* - I use that term very loosely - who was about four times the size of me and looked like she wanted to crush and have me for lunch.

Why did we scream at each other without any love in our words? Because the fool pushed me off the subway to the platform.

Apparently, I wasn't moving fast enough for her - even though the car doors weren't fully open yet.

Call me weird but I like to step off the train when the doors are open - it makes it easier.

Damn woman - you just don't do that people, especially motherbumper.

(i) do not touch motherbumper unless invited
(ii) do not push or tell motherbumper to do something obvious - like stepping off the train - she will rebel even if it was what she intended to do
(iii) do not touch motherbumper - this is so important, it must be said twice

I feel a teensy bit bad for yelling at her. I don't feel completely bad because I didn't use profanity (a major accomplishment for the queen of potty mouth), I did not react physically by pushing her back, and DAMN - she pushed me - what's there to feel bad about?

I hate yelling at strangers even though she totally violated my personal space, body, and the fact that she pushed me all because I didn't move fast enough.

Maybe she was having a bad day. Maybe she was in a super rush and my inability to squeeze through the half-open doors in a flash was going to delay her day just that much more.

Oh screw it - no matter how you cut it, her behaviour was inexcusable.

Instead of road rage, this woman had commuter rage. Anyone else out there deal with this kinda crap often - if so, how do you deal with it? Do you push back? Do you scream and yell? Do you take it, and then exact revenge on someone smaller? Do you lay down and cry? Do you even care? Tell me oh universe, how do you deal?

riding the rails since birth

bugged

Updated with yummy scientific yet made-up sounding information!

Just in time for Hallowe'en.

We got an email from my In-laws this weekend. They sent us a photo:

I guess my SIL came home to find this waiting in the house.



What?

You aren't scared of that?

Not impressed?

You don't feel the urge to pull your feet up and squeal just a tiny bit?

Maybe if I put it in perspective for y'all:

"give me your pin number and no one gets hurt"

Feel free to faint. I did.

I'd move if that entered my home. I'd just give it the keys, cancel the paper, sign over the deed, and be glad I lived to tell.

I never said anywhere on this blog that I was brave. Trust me, I'd do one of those "scooby-doo" running in the air exits if something half the size showed up on my doorstep.


The fact that my In-Laws took pictures before having it arrested for breaking and entering astounds me.

Writing this post sets me up for teasing by my related readers but holy heck I had to scare, I mean share the photo because OMG THAT F**KER IS HUUUUUUUUUGE!

UPDATE:
So many folks asked what the hell this beast is and I hate to break it to my local peeps, but this photo was taken in Ontario.

SB swears it is a water beetle so I decided to start by googling water bugs. And heck on a stick, it's called a giant water bug or it uses the fancy pants name of "Lethocerus americanus" (hee, I typed anus). The beast eats tadpoles, frogs, salamanders, crayfish, fish, and unruly children. Okay the last one is a lie but according to SB, these things bite and hurt like a mo'fo'.

strike!

This is what I discovered a few days ago while trying to engage the little ladies in a string of hallway six pins: toddlers cheat at bowling.

I tried to pass Bumper the bowling ball but she took matters into her own hands, I mean foot.

You think she'd try to feign interest, just a speck.

Nothing like eroding the tiny hill of mothering-mad-skillz I may been feeling lately.

And sweet little Imelda appears to be...

wait one freakin' second... is my voice really that nasally? Oh my holy heck, do I sound like that?

Sweet juju, I'm never speaking in public ever again.

I will now just be referred to as the Silent Blogger or SB for short.

Wait... calling me SB should not to be confused with the name I use for my partner in parenting crime(s), sb.

Ack.

Oh screw it. Too confusing and anyway, I like the way motherbumper sometimes sounds like *bleep* when said too fast.

*********************************

A nice end to the week:

Rusti* gave me one of those shiny fangled really swell blogger awardy things called the I'm Fabulous Award which means I'm Totally Fabulous according to the standards at Totally Fabulous which sounds completely legitimate to me. Way to make me blush and be polite - thanks Rusti!

*I think Rusti is a private blog writer and I have a key to her blog but I'm gonna do the link anyway because I love giving linky love. Which sounds way kinkier than it actually is.


Apparently I got the award because my posts have been a great form of birth control* AND my posts make her laugh. That's a good thing, right?

* best free chemical-free form of birth control** - my words are way more effective than the rhythm method***

** chemical-free not guaranteed on weekends, holidays, full-moons, or alternate Tuesday evenings

*** not really so don't sue me if you still manage to get pregnant after reading about my battle with sleep deprivation

Delta Force 2.2: The Bumper Connection

We are ten days into TWO! and I'm beat.

Between the NO MORE NAP! status and the dozens of full on wrestling matches instigated daily, I'm just beat.

Nap Strike 2007 turned into a full embargo on the Land of Nod. The only saving grace is the early bedtime. But it doesn't seem worth the afternoon tantrums from the unnapped toddler.

Somebody (with the initials SB - not that I'm naming names) taught her how to round-house kick. Nice one.

She yells "HIIIIII YA!" and smacks me around like her name is Chuck Norris and I'm trying to keep the Delta Force down.

BTW - did you know that there is no chin under Chuck's beard? Yessir, there is only another fist. I'm pretty sure Bumper is also built that way but her extra fist is set to random and can pop out from any place, at any time (at least when she is near her mommy).

Yesterday I had to confiscate from her possession: a miniature hockey stick, a toy golf club, and a plastic hammer. She tried to use all three on me - at the same time. They have now joined the bat at the back of the closet.

Poop has shot to #1 on Bumper's Buzz Tot Talk trademark pending. Cynical Dad tells me poop talk will never end. Oh well, the first two years were fun. Who's idea was it to teach her to talk? Oh right, we thought it would make things easier.

Easier. That's laughable.

Each time I read another blogger's post extolling the beauty and ease of two I resist the urge to (i) cry and whine in their comments, (ii) call them LIARS, or (iii) swap toddlers with them in the dead of night.

I must end this by saying if any folks out there concerned about my sanity (*crickets chirping*) - oh come on, no one cares? Anyhooo... if some random stranger comes along and is all like "OMG what the hell is she complaining about? What a bad mom" to you I say "get a life and while you are out shopping, why don't you pick up a can of sense-o-humour". I wouldn't change a thing about Bumper, I'm just tired and constantly beat by a strong willed toddler. Something many many folks would give their left nut to experience.

Though while on topic... if given the chance to change something, I'd find her sleep control and have it adjusted in my favour, but other than that, I wouldn't change a single, precious thing.

[This is supposed to be a cute photo of B holding a big stick yet for some unknown reason Blogger hates me and won't upload - but trust me, it's cute]

Next topic please

Overheard at lunch:

SB: Daddy is talking to Mommy right now, please don't interrupt.

Bumper: No! Daddy talk to Bumper.

SB realizing that there is no arguing with that request:

SB: What are we going to talk about?

Bumper: Dog poop.

Let me explain.

We took a pre-dinner walk together and on the way back to our apartment, we saw a man with three dogs. They were playing in the little grassy area by our building, two small terriers and one large hound. As soon as we were right by them, the two smaller dogs squatted and did their business. Bumper thought this was hilarious and declared what they were doing very loudly for all to hear.

Poop seems to be at the top of the pop list for Bumper these days. She has figured out what is going on and now she's fascinated with others doing it.

Before we finished watching the dogs, Bumper told me she wanted to stay and see if the "huge dog poop?".

I did not fulfil that request.

Mean mommy? No. Grossed out mommy? Yes - very. I have to draw the line somewhere.

***********************

Speaking of poop:

Poop is dirty and makes evil laundry. Over at motherbumper's laboratory I've reviewed a new updated OxiClean stain remover which worked as claimed - which makes me very very happy.

***********************

Oh and how could I not be part of this - check out the link below - it's Blog Action Day for the Environment

How is my family doing it? No more juice boxes, no more regular light bulbs, we use washable rags over disposable paper when cleaning, using rechargeable batteries instead of disposable, and now we are joining the year-long toxic battle to ban Bisphenol A. Read about it over at BlogHers ACT Canada. Find out what you can do to make the world a little less toxic.

Crush Me(me)

In elementary school, one of the few forms of self-expression was through locker posters.

The nuns didn't exercise any control over locker contents (unless it was offensive, illegal, or smelly... and most times smelly was ignored). We wore identical uniforms and pretty much had identical school supply kits so our juvenile crushes helped define us in an "under twelve" kind of way.

Teen Beat and Tiger Beat were bibles of sorts. We believed and gobbled up every article and every last photo. For those who had parents who forbade such rag publications, the ones who had forbidden materials also had awesome trading leverage for A-1 prize recess snacks. No carrot sticks for that kid, it was Jos. Louis all the way.

Most of my peers crushed on Shaun Cassidy, David Cassidy (oh those Cassidy bros were hot), and Donny Osmond. I did enjoy watching The Partridge Family, The Hardy Boys, and [OMG] The Donny & Marie Show (I'm a little bit country, I'm a little bit rock n'roll - great, now that's stuck in my head) - but none of those boys did it for me.

The definition of "did it" was very innocent. We were young, naive - gosh darn it - we were complete dweebs by today's standards. The Teen/Tiger Beat heart throbs were the men we were going to marry, have children with, though gosh diddley darn it, there was no knocking of the boots happening. Hello! We had no freakin' clue (or at least I didn't) what knocking boots was all about.

The physical side of things didn't play into these crushes - or at least that is how I remember it. Maybe kissing and making out played into it (probably) but other than that - no freakin' way! That was yucky grown up stuff. And regardless, it sounded messy*.
* proven to be true

So locker posters consisted of these crushes, most ripped from the magazines we poured over at recess and lunch time. I have many fine memories of rainy days stuck in the classroom, discussing who was the object of our affections.

Now that I'm all growed-up*, I find these crushes freakin' hilarious. I'm not sure what my criteria was back then but I do remember the passion (once again, we are talking about a ten-year old's passion - as in passionate about Ketchup chips). It was intense, it was focused, it was insatiable. The grand ol' Hollywood media machine had me by their hooks and I ate it all up.
* the jury is still out on this one

So that brings me to the meme:

Join me in revelling in our childhood crushes. Name your top childhood crush(es) - male or female.

Did Albert Einstein do it for you? Wow I wish I sat next to you in science class.
Luke Skywalker? You are definitely a friend of mine.
Cory Haim? That's one I never understood - please explain.

Here are mine:

Greg Evigan (BJ) from BJ and the Bear*: In my little girl eyes, BJ was the pinnacle of cool and oh my holy heck, he hung out with a monkey! A monkey!!! He drove a big rig and those two got into so many intense one-hour show format adventures. Yes, this show was enough to make me dream of becoming a trucker. A trucker with a monkey.
* Now that I'm an adult, I can only imagine the jokes that spun off of this show's name.

In case you are wondering - I may have secretly watched My Two Dads but if asked in public, it will be denied. And OMG - no teasing! I was something like eight and the monkey was totally a huge part of the crush factor.

Richard Hatch (Apollo) from Battlestar Galactica. Almost all of my friends had a hankerin' for Starbuck but I was all like "I totally *heart* Apollo, and like cross my heart and hope to like die, and like stick a needle in my like eye". He was serious, he was tough, he was seriously tough, and he could look like a wounded puppy dog at just the right moment. Yes sir, this was a head over heels crush to the nth degree.

I totally don't get the Starbuck thing, I mean seriously,
Apollo had the way cooler clothing:
the nehru jacket and oh my holy hell, that black belt totally rocks

I must say the Richard Hatch crush is no more. These days when someone says Richard Hatch I immediately think of Richard "Survivor winner, Tax Evader, formerly fat&naked guy" Hatch. That pretty much leaves me feeling kinda icky.

So concerning Richard Hatch the actor crush - I'm pretty sure it was Apollo that was the true object of my affection.

Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, and Han Solo. I wanted to be or hang out with all three of them.

Luke really appealed to me, in that whiny teenage angst boy kind of way. At the time the whole wounded lost teenager thing - well that seemed so cool and appealing. These days I find it more whiny.

Hans Solo was good-looking, a rebel and his didn't give a shit attitude is something I still love to this day.

Leia, a princess with a sharp tongue, brains, and beauty - um - totally great role model for an 8 year old me thinks.

So there you have it. The basic insides of my elementary school locker over my first decade. The stars of my barbie storylines, playground make-believe, and daydreams.

I'm gonna tag Something Baby Blue, and Mac & Cheese, and anyone who wants to play along (leave me a comment so I can drop by and laugh).

Come on now - spill!

10.10 @ 10am (your time)

What are you doing today at 10am?

How about supporting the League of Maternal Justice's Breast Fest?

I know that's what I'm doing.

See you there.

Bumper, back in the good ol' days

dos deux two however you say it...

... it's a huge number to me.

How did the last two years fly by like that?

How is it possible that this time two years ago I was in that delivery room, pushing for and towards a completely new life?

TWO HOURS!

How did TWO! sneak up on us so quickly?

ONE!

Didn't we just finish celebrating ONE!?

Happy Birthday Sweet Bumper, Happy Birthday.

TWO!

Oh and what does a two year old do on her birthday?

Why she reads OK! in bed while waiting for her breakfast. She just has to know what is going on with Jordon and princess Tiaamii.

OK, that's a lie.

No, not about Jordon - Bumper does need to know that stuff but for her second birthday, we are celebrating it surrounded by those we love. We are on the farm (because all the bars were booked).

Now I've got to find an open store to go get a gift and card because I am such a disorganized mom.

Oh how I wish that was a lie, but it ain't.

Toy Story 3: Hashbrown

On this special episode of Most Wanted Criminals:

Thanks to all your tips, a major drug ring has been busted but cops still need your help. Australian authorities are still looking for the ringleader and head kahuna, P.D. Terre.

P.D. Terre (aka. The Spudfather) is a known global drug lord. Born in Idaho, raised in Price Edward Island, P.D. quickly rose through the ranks of la pelota, the infamous drug cartel.

Australian authorities recently busted one of his mules coming in from Ireland carrying more than 300 grams of ecstasy.

Maybe you can help us catch this loser and put him where he belongs.

An Australian customs officer who was interviewed but declined to give his name, said "mash him mate*. This scumbag deserves to be boiled, mashed, and slapped with sour cream".

Here is the most recent surveillance footage of suspect, P.D. Terre:


P.D. Terre has been known to quickly adapt and change his appearance with ease. Look closely at this photo from 2004, do you recognize him?



The only thing this loser can get right is changing his appearance. He turned 55 this year but he is very good at engaging and blending in with the younger crowd.


Being a man of low moral character - a real dirt sack - he has been known to disguise himself as a woman:


Let's catch this loser and make him pay!

Maybe you recognize his drug mule, who has been identified as E. Kartoffel of Germany:

If you have any information regarding P.D.Terre, contact the your local authorities.

***********************************

Yes folks, I've officially lost it but seriously: I don't make this stuff up - it's just served to me on a platter.

* my apologies to any(?) Australian readers. I doubt you say mash 'em mate or anything similar. In the rare event that I've hit on something real: if I've said something obscene, drop me a line, k?

***********************************

And I know I can't stop talking about it but have you been over to The League of Maternal Justice lately?

First off, today is the last day to send in your BF photos for the super-fantastic montage that will be up on Monday.

And holy heck, next week [10.10 @10am to be precise] is The Great Virtual Breast Fest! Are you in?

come on now... say something, pleeeeze?

A few times last year, I saw these delurking days and thought they were a great thing. It kinda forced me to say something everywhere I went and it was fun. So I was very pleased when I saw one was coming up today.

A huge thank you to the folks behind this one. Sweet looking button and good call.

So if you are new to blogging, what this means is please leave a comment - even if all it says is "Hi".

Delurk Dammit! I'm a blogger not a mind reader!

Whoops. That sounded rude.

I promise I won't bite and sometimes I even respond, in person.

Kidding.

All responses are via email. My lawyer and the judge said that is how it must be done from now on.

So sometimes I send emails, that is - if you fill in your email - which many folks don't.

*big sigh* I sometimes like to say something back and there is no way for me to do it *big sad clown face*

omg - that picture is going to be in my nightmares tonight - I just know it. I hate mo'fo' clowns.

But back to what I was talking about. I can swear on a stack of whatever Holy Book you respect that I've never thought a comment was stupid (wacky? Yes, stupid? Hell no).

All I want to say is I love the fact that a post made you want to say something.

Even if it is a comment that says something like:

"Hi! I read your post motherbumper and I think..":

(a) that was funny!
(b) you are insane
(c) your parents had no control over you and you should sue them for negligence
(d) your kid is cute
(e) you make Britney look like a nun

But not this nun:
Yup - I'm going to Hell for sure.

Sorry to rat you out Sister Mary Margaret.

most dangerous profession #29745: drunk mime

Flashback time again! It must have been all the acid I dropped in high school* coming back to haunt me because this story jumped into my mind on three separate occasions this week - with no prompts (WACKY!).
* did not actually happen Dad and I'm too old to ground (I think).

So this story involves the same cast and crew but this time there is no feminine protection involved.

My friends and I loved to party and living in a university-laden city with a multitude of bars, taverns, pubs, clubs, and cabarets with a small few block radius made having fun very easy and economical. The term "draught war" was music to our ears and sometimes the drinking got a bit out of hand.

BTW - a draught war usually broke out in the Summer. Bars and some pubs would compete by dropping draught prices ridiculously low during early evening hours to attract crowds. Most places didn't participate and the bars that did usually consisted of the more pick-up a coyote* kind of dance bar place. We would just go for the cheap drinks and nachos before moving onto more palatable haunts (yes, I'm a bar snob - what's the big deal?)
* coyote: someone who might bring on the urge for you to chew your own arm off to escape from once sobriety makes the trek back into your brain. I have not heard, nor used that term since the nineties.

So some nights it would get very out of control since there was no limit at this time on how many drinks you could purchase at one time. It wasn't unusual for a server to come by with a full half-pint tray and for a table of four or six to buy the entire thing. What party kid can resist 30 cent drinks?

It is unnecessary to ramble on, or describe the debauchery any further: short of long, we often got hammered (what's that little liver of mine? you want me to tell them you almost walked out on me a few times because of my behaviour? oh shush, you little whiner, I went easy on you at BlogHer). Suffice to say we drank copious amounts of alcohol especially on weekend nights.

One Saturday morning after one of those super sloshy nights, I came downstairs after the usual rise 'n shine call to find one of the guys passed out face first between the couch and coffee table. Not completely unusual but something didn't seem right.

It was the angle of his body that seemed wrong - it looked like he was lying on top of something. During my CSI examination, another room mate had come downstairs and we moved the table to try to move the guy off the floor because the dude was totally blocking the bathroom we needed to be sure he was breathing okay.

Once we flipped him over we realized what was going on. It appeared that before passing out, he had made some KD, lay down the couch with the food on his chest, then passed out, and proceeded to roll off the couch onto the floor taking everything with him.

A flipped-over, full bowl of bright orange macaroni lay on the floor next to the now flipped back-over guy. The still passed out guy.

We were relieved when he quickly started to wake up and stretch - after all, he did have to go to work - and more importantly, I had to use the loo - BAD.

The moment he lifted his shoulder to move, his eyes popped open like something out of a horror movie and he cried out in pain. It only took one look at the arm to know it was broken (I ain't no med student but yuck, it was broke-en B.A.D.).

"How the h*** did you break your f'ing arm Dude?!?"

He had no idea. For real, he had absolutely no idea.

After a discussion of possible arm-breaking scenarios with no resolution, he was packed off to get the arm looked after. Then we all scurried off to work.

I worked at a woman's clothing store and Saturdays were the least painful days to work with a hangover. It was busy, the staff was at full capacity, and things always went fast. This day was no exception.

At the end of the day, after close, the music would be cranked and clean up would begin. This was also the prime time to gossip and share stories of Friday night parties. What can I say? We were a huge group of twenty-something girls who loved to have fun. So stories would fly and it usually was a huge laugh.

That particular night two of the youngest girls were talking about a wild party they had attended at one of the down town universities. I remember it was a funny story, that just got better with each detail so I took a break to listen when one of the girls said something like "and just when we thought it couldn't get any weirder, listen what happened to us on the way home:".

The look on my face must have involved a completely slack jaw because that is how I felt after hearing the story.

Apparently at the end of the night, they were walking home when they encountered this very attractive, charming, completely wasted young man who proceeded to follow them home. He was a total gentleman, sometimes acting like a mime, sometimes plucking flowers from gardens to give to them.

He wasn't bothering them and they were flattered by his attention so they had no issue with him tagging along. He didn't say much, anything said was fairly incoherent but he wasn't a stumble fall down drunk and appeared agile.

The girls agreed that it seemed he had noticed something across the street (a flower? an invisible box or imaginary wind storm? who knows what caught his attention) and suddenly he took off across the road.

As the charming drunk mime ran into the street, seemingly out of no where (though my money is on "it came down the road") a car appeared and hit this mysterious, completely charming drunk. They said he wasn't hit really hard - the driver did brake almost in time - but he was hit enough to knock him across the hood and onto his butt beside the car on the road.

How do I remember these details?

OMG and holy heck, by this time I was taking notes and trying to phone the now sober and broken mime at home.

The story finished with him getting up, staggering for a moment, grabbing his arm in confusion and then taking off into the night. The driver hadn't stopped, no one was quite sure what had just happened so for these ladies they just had a really wacky story to tell the next day.

I think what got me most about this story wasn't the fact that the mystery was solved by sheer chance and now we knew how his arm was broken - it was the fact that he came home and made KD with a broken arm AND without setting the house on fire.

Dude never EVER cooked when he was sober.