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I spend a lot of time staring at these neighbors across the way.

The top left have a dog who likes to look over the railing. The ones below have a fancy fridge that glows. The top right have people over sometimes and they smoke on the balcony. The ones below are boring and nothing ever happens.

And they all go to bed at absurd hours, like before 10 or 11pm. Weirdos.

2:45am is the more reasonable bedtime.

So, there is a trip being planned that could see me in London AND Dublin this year, and the only thing I can think about is being able to see ocean at the end of the lane. Can you imagine? CAN YOU EVEN JUST IMAGINE? I have no idea if it will still be running then, and if it is, how easy to get tickets. Like, maybe it’s how it was for Hamilton on Broadway, you had to have money and be extremely super special to get tix (shocking fact: I meet none of these qualifications).

I’m afraid to do any internet investigating, in case I find out disappointing news and then I will just be depressed for the rest of my life.

Thank goodness I have my newly-received Rick Steves European travel collection, courtesy of rocky mountain PBS. I have DVDs and books and pamphlets and even a Christmas music CD. What a good little tourist I will be.

Maybe I stay there forever and never come back.

Ooohh, I should start learning the languages now. Listen to this. “Blue is my favourite colour.” “You are bloody mental, you are!” “Me thinks there be tree or four lads in that pub who can help me with my flat tyre.” Petrol! Kilos! Queue up!

Trolleys, lifts and loos, oh my.

I am kind of fucked up on a variety of pharmaceuticals right now, but I am excited to read my new book I just got today, but not tonight because it is a) very late and b) I am tired and c) also very unfocused from drug ingestion. And I keep nodding off typing this.

IT IS SIGNED. But not cool-signed like when Samantha irby signs her books. Just normal boring old signed. But I’m a dumb old sucker for signed books. I can’t help it.

Sadly I couldn’t go to the bruins game Wed. night here vs the Avs, cause my job people were in town and there was a big downtown introduction reception, where I got a cute drink koozie

But my b boys got to go and it was a bit of a heartbreaking loss but that is okay so time for me to hit the sack cause I’m all messed up right now.

May these pictures show you a pleasure

I was wrong, I didn’t subscribe to the New York Times last night in an ambien haze.

Well, I sort of did. I subscribed to their games section. Which isn’t great, I know.

But see, I was playing their spelling bee game, and I got up to a certain score, and then it said “whoa you’re smart! If you get a games sub right now we will show you exactly what level of smart.” And so I subscribed. Which I guess means my level of smart is Stupid, because I’m now one of the chumps who gives money to the nyt.

I swear to god with that newspaper.

Please forgive me, I know not what I do after taking ambien.

I do like their mini crossword, I can’t help it, I am not made of stone.

I took a sleeping pill like 3 hours ago and instead of making me sleep it just made me feel like I’m in a stop motion video. Everything is all choppy and disjointed but in a continuous way. Also, gray.

now it’s like almost morning or something and I AM STILL AWAKE and somehow I ended up subscribing to the NYT how am I going to undo that, stupid nyt no one’s impressed with you.

I’ve decided my new yarn project is going to be a bag of dicks. Let me explain. First I’m gonna crochet a bag. Then I’m gonna crochet a bunch of dicks. And finally, I’m gonna put all those crochet dicks in the crochet bag. Tada. Bag of dicks.

What then? Well then I’m gonna give that bag of dicks to someone who is a bag of dicks, or needs to eat a bag of dicks, or suck a bag of dicks? I’m not sure, it is unclear to me at this moment what insult I’m going to use it for, but it is definitely an insult.

Cause usually I say “oh that guy is a jerk! Go eat a bag of dicks!” but also sometimes I say “what a bag of dicks you are.” Or like maybe “tuukka can suukka bag of dicks.”

But hmm maybe I should not give a lovingly crafted beautiful yarn project to someone who is (or eats or sucks) a bag of dicks? Not much of an insult. “Here, person I do not like, take this lovely yarn bag filled with lovely yarn dicks, that I spent hours and hours making with my own hands, touching and stroking and crocheting.” Would you feel insulted? No you’d feel pretty special. Pretty rewarded. That’s the opposite!

How about this instead: you, my friend, can fuck right off with a big old bag of dirty dicks. and I’m not gonna give you those dicks I made. No! Go find your own! Asshole!

I do still want to make a bag of dicks tho. My auto correct keeps trying to get me to say bag of socks. Fuck off!

I’m going to bed now, stop motion bed, good night and quit being a bag of dicks. Just stop.