Golden Acres Gone Wild

OK, so in classic form I have left my forelorn page to sit in silence while I skipped town. I do have so many stories about drunk games of Cranium where my poor sober ass really thought I just may burst a blood vessel in my eye. “IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER IF YOU SAID MOTO OR MOTOR! JUST FINISH THE GAME SO I CAN GO TO SLEEP IN PEACE!” I also have fun stories of the Spooner/Peters/Logsdon vacation where I lived in a trailor that was thissmall with my sister and her husband and her three 5-year-olds for five days and six nights. I could also tell you about my mother’s new motorized scooter or the New Year’s Eve bash at the Golden Acres clubhouse or how my brother showed up at 11 p.m. on New Year’s Eve to a raucous party of non-drinking parents/pregnant people/Trent and calmly asked in his new voicetone that sounds more and more like Butt-Head, “Uhhh, so, uhhh, do you guys, uhhhh, mind if I steal a couple of brewsky’s, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

But I just really don’t have time to go through the whole she-bang right now. Rest assured, hilarity ensued, and Trent refrained from killing my mother. Just barely. I will write more when I have time to physically remove myself from my work email account which seems to have imploded in my absense.