Old wounds and the vagabond

Just came back from a family gathering. Another cousin getting engaged. Whoopdee doo. I hate these gatherings and I hate my Aunties, Uncles and cousins (well, that's a lie, I actually enjoy the company of some of em). I would rather dunk my head in the toilet and have Tony Robbins dance a jig on my back than have a full blown conversation with them. So usually at these shindigs, after we've done the usual overly cheerful greeting (followed by a pregant pause), I retreat to some corner with beer in tow and they leave me the hell alone. Sometimes I can even tell they've instructed their kids to stay away from me, like I have corruption flowing from my fingers or something. I generally do not care what they think anyway. I used to hate it. It doesn't matter anymore.

I think what I'm trying to say is, who wants to go get some ice-cream from Dairy Bell?

Oh yeh, props to T-ir's 22nd borthday on Thursday!!!! The drinks are on Troy!

My dog seems to have recognised my mood and has jumped on my bed and is currently sleeping (with his paws in the air) under my brown cord pants. That cute bugger. That damn cute fool.