Right, updates...
Wednesday before New Year's, we had a lovely little get-together with, essentially, a bunch of Catlady's friends (I'll call her Catlady instead of To-Be-Named, at least for now. The sound of it goes fairly well with Hatman, and I can't think of any other particularly name-worthy quirks of hers aside from her love and devotion to their two cats, and the fact that she has just now received her order for a beanie shaped like a cat).
The party was interesting, at the very least. I was introduced to a number of highly unique individuals, not the least of which being the two girls I was being matched up with. While I cannot with full honesty say that either got my heartstrings vibrating in aching rhythm, they were both quite pleasant and interesting individuals I wouldn't mind be acquainted with. I know, my shining compliments hold no bounds...
In any case, they were indeed quite nice, and the party was fun. Much Inka Corn was consumed, and merriment flowed freely. As everyone started filtering away, I was eventually left as the last man standing. Wanting to fit in some time to chug water after my alcoholic imbibing, I stayed up for a while longer cleaning up the inevitable results of drunk people making strawberry daiquiris on the spot.
I woke up some time after going to bed to find Catlady also suffering from a spell of not-sleeping. We sat up for a couple more hours jabbering about this and that, and we both got to know each other a little better than just "That friend/fiancee of Hatman's". I took the opportunity to continue the hydrobased bodily toxin-flushing that is the one reason I've never had a hangover to my name.
A day of rest followed, with more cleanup and more Xbox. About as much as could be expected of a "morning after". Plans were discussed and mulled over as to what would happen in the New Year's/After New Year's region of time.
I'd originally thought about checking in with John Smith, but as it turns out he was somewhere completely different than where I thought he was, and would remain there for a while yet. So, rather than jumping ship and getting out of everyone's hair before the ten-hour drive across Norway's snowy roads, it was decided that I'd just go along with them instead.
New Year's Eve itself was spent at the top of a great big'ol hill with a church shoved on top of it for good measure. From this vantage point, we were able to look out over the city and experience a rather quite large number of fireworks, all going off from different places at different times, seemingly with no connection to the actual turn of midnight into 2011.
We were, in fact, able to experience the fireworks disturbingly well; due to the fact that we were standing in the midst of a crowd of revelers who'd brought their own whizzy bang-bangs and were setting them off with the usual degree of accuracy and forethought an alcohol percentage will give you.
January 1st presented the three of us with what essentially amounted to an acid test. Stick three people in one car with lots of baggage for ten hours, and then see if they can still bear the thought of one another.
We passed, strangely enough. Through audiobooks, music CDs, World's Best Buns and sheer strength of sarcastic wit we managed to pull through and make it to the front step of our destination: The home of some proud parents, waiting for the godmother to arrive. Plus two.
As it was bad enough pulling up last-minute at someone's home with a strange and foreign tagalong, the three of us decided that it would be better for everyone if I just hung out and played Xbox for a couple hours while the people who were actually invited could participate in the baptism ceremony.
For one thing, having some stranger show up at your baby girl's baptism is just a bit too taxing on personal relations... For the other, I get a rather unsightly rash whenever I spend extended periods within the boundaries of sacred grounds. It was just the natural solution to stick me in front of electronic entertainment for a while.
The after-baptism party was just as roaring and wild as you'd expect something of that sort to be. I did get to speak with various persons of Swedish heritage, however. Or, rather, they spoke to me and I acted like I had some clue as to what the bugger-all they were saying. I think some old grandmother was asking me if I'd considered the possibility of finding and marrying a Swedish lass during my time in Scandinavia.
An odd event worth mentioning was when the pictures were being taken to commemorate the whole ordeal. Having met her just the night before, the mother of the child instructed me to take part in one of the preserved images. Apparently, in just the short time I had spent being anywhere near her, I had made quite a good impression on her (I only later found out just how good this impression was. She sent a text message to Catlady when we were on the road, where she wondered if I was in fact homosexual. Because, obviously, no man as good-looking, thoughtful and humorous as myself could possibly be straight).
After a successful baby-watering, we saddled up and hit the icy road yet again, this time for a shorter 4-hour stint up to Catlady's sweet little old grandmother. Catlady's sweet little old grandmother, who had once given her the sage advice to wait for another taxi if there was a negro behind the wheel, and to stay well away from those entirely untrustworthy yellow people.
Yet another tottering old relic spouting nostalgia for a more uptight era, she was actually quite pleasant for being a batty old racist who was hard of hearing and would never admit it. Catlady was treated to a staggering array of gifts and bestowals, including an antique footstool and a home-sewn gravy boat coaster in the shape of a crucifix.
I, meanwhile, made myself familiar with the dog.
After a night of making under-the-radar heretical banter, stifling hysterical giggles and then snoring, we packed up and shuffled off into the vehicular mode of transport yet again for the home stretch. The audiobook was bitten into, the remarks and comments flew, and the gas station cuisine was sampled.
At one remarkably abandoned rest stop, we were left without access to official bathrooms. Hatman and I took turns fulfilling our instinctual urge as men to urinate on things, and the local snowbank was targeted.
Hatman had apparently made a spontaneous decision to write his name in bright yellow letters, an honorable and ancient ritual of manliness. Unfortunately, Hatman suffers from dyslexia. He also suffered from a not-quite-full bladder. The resulting scrawl was such a pitiable affair that I could not help myself but assist in completing his noble work of art.
I wound up having a wee bit more ink in my pen than I'd imagined, so an exclamation mark was added for good measure. Come her turn, Catlady was entirely unimpressed.
Today was spent recovering from the massive amount of road hours taken. I believe we all managed to do our part in this regard, but I was particularly efficient due to the fact that I was the only one who didn't need to go to work at some point during the day.
From the looks of things, I'll probably be staying here for a while longer before heading up to my granddad and getting ready for my Norwegian test. There's a chance that another get-together will be arranged while I'm here, but alcohol will not be hugely prominent as everyone needs to be in some kind of shape for work around this time.
We'll see what I can come up with to scribble about. One never knows what kind of mischief can occur when you're not doing much of anything...
Author
Topic: All I Want For Xmas is an HK416 (Read 74813 times)