Right bitches, I'm back.

And while I was gone I went to Pennsylvania and had my first American Thanksgiving experience. Its a weird tradition, people come together and cook a turkey the size of a three year old child and eat themselves into a food coma and follow it up with "pie" by which they mean tarts and sweet flans and cakes. And the day after people get up at 5am to go shopping to buy things they really don't need and to fight each other for cheap products which were more than likely made by children in Burma who don't have turkeys to eat.
Anyway, it was nice to be with a family again, even though it wasn't my own, and Kait and I drank every night, which is why I'm saving up my money and buying a house on this street because I'd fit right in.


Reading Pennsylvania is smack bang in the middle of Amish country and I was most upset to come away from my wee holiday without seeing a single Amish person. I'm sure they don't all look like Viggo but I would love a photo of some Amish people. However, I didn't see any, which as it turns out may have been a good thing because apparently they are a bit stinky because they don't use soap or deodorant or toothpaste or listerine or shampoo or perfume or razors or dental floss or any of those useful things we use to smell nice and keep our teeth from not falling out. I would last five minutes in an Amish house because stinky breath is my number one Hate (co-first prize winner with Eating With Mouth Open. I firmly believe all noisy eaters should be taken out back and shot).

So, the drinking. First night we went to this right dive of a bar that was kind of fun and drank beer and that was nice, and the second night Kait's brother-in-law's band was playing at a fire company which is where firemen go to drink but none of them were hot, and the singer of the band embarrassed the crap out of me and I nearly hit him but didn't cos I'm a lady.
And then Kait's friend Salad took a photo of me and I look really fat so I need to get exercising and cutting down on the old booze a wee bit or Greenpeace will come to the beach when I'm swimming and refloat me. However, the day that I go on a diet is the day that hell freezes over that GW says something intelligent that pigs fly that Sarah is not my number one girl that the pope is a single mother from South Auckland that Fat Freddy's suck that Luther is short that Fox is fair and balanced that I am not awesome. So basically, never.

So, in keeping with the season, I ate obscene amounts of food on Thanksgiving, and we went to the first-night-bar again, and I drank scotch because it was cold and I got a bit drunky which was fun.
We also went for a wee walk before the bar after the turkey and before the "pie" and I saw a sign. Not The Sign, nor the Sign O The Times, but a sign nonetheless.

And I took its photo. It was most obliging, as were Ramone and Chet.

Ramone. Big fat grumpy black cat. I heart Ramone.

Chet. He has three legs. I know pretty much all cats have three legs, but the unusual thing about Chet is that he doesn't also have leg number four that all the other cats have. He got shot in the first Gulf War and now sits around the house collecting his veterans benefits.
He's a pretty cool dude, even if he did bite me. Twice.

Back to the booze. Last night was fun because we went to the Ugly Oyster with Kait's "boys" one of which was her ex-boyfriend and long lost twin of our very own Luther and his silly skank of a girlfriend was there (not Luther's, his is most awesome and not in small town USA but is on a boat making the oceans safe for the inevitable global pirate takeover, I mean the ex-boyfriend's) and she hated me because he was loving The Claire and kept trying to talk to me and look at my boobs and ignoring her what a rude bastard. We think he's a dick because he was not very nice to Kait when they were together and was rude to Kait's mum who is the coolest lady in Pennsylvania. Anyway.

Then I drank A Lot Of Bourbon and someone made me do an Irish Car Bomb which is a shot of Baileys dropped in most of a pint of Guiness and you're supposed to chop the entire thing in one go and I couldn't do it and I felt bad because I was the sole representative of my country there and I let the side down but then I snogged a really hot boy called Zane and that made up for it. Zane hearts Claire. And Claire hearts Zane, at least for a little while in a bar last night until fate tore us apart like star-crossed lovers in manner of Shakespearean tragedy or similar. Poor Zane, because he's still in Reading Pennsylvania and I'm in Syracuse New York and long distance relationships never work and it was beautiful while it lasted but we'll always have the Ugly Oyster Bar and our one wee snog.
Now I have snogged boys in two states. Only 48 to go.

And now I'm going to bed.

Thank you for all the nice things you said while I was gone.
Did I miss anything exciting?