Dutch Blitz. If you don't play it, I can't know you.

So I’m back. From vacation. Home. Whee. It’s cold here. It was not cold there. I am decidedly grumpy about this, this coldness. I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and found that my toilet seat had, somewhere between 11pm and 3am, turned to a block of ice. This was surprising. Also, unpleasant. I’ve been avoiding peeing since I got home from work today because I should not have to HOVER OVER THE TOILET SEAT IN MY OWN HOME for fear that my ass will suffer from frostbite. My bladder is unhappy about this. But my ass is warm, so the bladder can just suck it.

Let’s see. I didn’t do so well with the not drinking thing, but I did behave. I didn’t, for instance, drink so much that I walked into the closet in the middle of the night, thinking it was the bathroom. No, I did not. Though someone DID and the next morning wasn’t feeling so well and relayed to us his adventures amongst the hangers and clothing while on the hunt for the potty. Next time, bring supplies, my mother said.

Those two cases of wine she sent down? Almost completely gone. There is a program for people like us. Or we should teach a program. Depends on your stance on wine consumption, I suppose.

I returned home with much less hair. My niece Heidi was looking awfully cute with a stacked bob. When asked who had sheared her thusly she pointed to my sister and so I dragged Candy upstairs and she administered the same cut on my head and now I look fabulous! and chic! and cropped! and possibly my hair is now cooler than I am, or I’m not cool enough to have this haircut – one of those. But - I’ll try. I think I’ll have to start wearing short dresses and dropping French phrases into my speech to match the hair. That will last for approximately one day, after which I’ll get very tired and retire to my room with a case of the vapors.

We spent much time playing cards. Dutch Blitz, which is a version of speed Solitaire, though played with Rook cards and an infinite amount of people. It is dizzying and fast and brings out the worst in us. Candy and I hurl insults at one another across the table while my mother tells those playing that since she gave us life, she could just as easily extinguish it if we don’t SLOW DOWN. Holly hums. Heidi mutters. Steph sits in the corner observing, yelling, I HATE THIS GAME! yet calling out help to those who need it and Anna, my brothers girlfriend (hi Anna!) who braved a weekend with the entire family and had never played Dutch Blitz before would cheerfully say “I got ZERO this round! I’m so happy I’m not in the negatives!” while Candy would moan “I ONLY GOT 50 POINTS!” Out of a possible 56. Candy always wins. She is scary fast. We need to hobble her.

Truthfully, though, I thought I would have more to report. There was so much laughter and general joy, but the stories are of the sort that someone who doesn’t speak the language of our family would just say “Meh, y’all are weird”. So I’ll spare you. I’ll tell you the story of the near assault on my person in the security line at the airport tomorrow. Because GOD FORBID I should travel without somehow making an ass out of myself in front of the TSA agents. I have my doctorate in General Foolishness. Truly.