I am officially 100% tired of listening to my neighbours have sex. At least the dude seems to be picking up a bit of skill; a couple of months ago he could really only be counted on to give her a short pounding; now he seems to last a solid five or six minutes, but the inevitable downside to that for me is that I have to listen to that shit for longer, and the sympathetic vibrations on the longer time scale send crap flying off my shelves like you wouldn't believe. Also they're way up with the conversation during. She's going at him like a traffic cop. So there you have it, women of the world: communicate your needs, and boy may actually learn a thing or two. Nobody enjoys working in a vacuum.

On Saturday night I went to a BBQ that involved a farting baby and setting off fireworks in a hospital quiet zone. All of which would have been hilarious except that I am on no beer until after Heart & Stroke, so... less hilarious. Oh beer. (I will, naturally, have a bit of rum at world's end on Thursday.) Then on the way home Saturday night I managed a rather spectacular DF (that's detest-fest for those not down with the '94-era lingo) and burned out a buncha negative crap that had been accumulating in the old noggin. So that's... good? I don't know. Saturday nights can be pretty spectacularly lonely times, especially when you're surrounded by people.

See - even right now - Pizzazz and Megatron and Big Fuckin' Hermione are waving around like John Milius on a surf board because the damn neighbours are at it again! Dammit I hate when my blogging gets inadvertently explicated by real-life occurances before I even get to hit "Publish!" Fucking Victoria Day sex. I used to have Victoria Day sex, you know... back during Queen Victoria's actual lifetime, mind you. ZING!

Last night we had a terrific soccer game against a solid team which we worked up into a 4-4 tie; I let at least one of those goals slip right through my legs so I'm irritated about that, and I had a good scoring opportunity that I completely failed to capitalize on, but otherwise it was awesome times all around. Cold as a witch's teat, though; Teen Girl Squad pitched a tent in the back yard last night and I'm sort of curious to see if they'll turn up dead this morning. This is not V-day weather. I got myself the perfect pizza (anchovies, artichokes, mushrooms, green olives, thick crust, garlic parmesan base sauce), wrapped myself up in warmies, and watched Dead Man's Chest till the wee hours.

Hermi Odle slobbers here. It's not over yet.