An Expensive Wedding, a Bad Hat, and an Effing Broken Toe

Well, once again I have been directed to either blog or die. And I have been away for a bit, so sit back and snuggle in, whilst I regail in tales of my adventures during my absence. So, since the last time I blogged, I:
a) Attended a wedding in Bend, also euphemistically known as BFE;
b) Was stalked by my across the street neighbor; and lastly,
c) I broke my effing toe.

Isn't it amazing what can happen in the span of a few days? Let's start with the wedding. First let me say that it really sheeged my axot* that I had to shell out so much money for this wedding. Yeah, ok, she's my best friend, but for the love of Christ, it's not like I am made out of money. No, I am made out of skin, and last time I checked, bartering with skin was highly frowned upon.

My friend Jody got married to her long-time boyfriend (and I mean long time) Troy at a golf club. Why? I have no idea other than Troy is a golf fiend. It was a pretty outdoors ceremony, but the planet Mercury-like temperatures were toasting my kibbles. There were no eligible/cute men there, and no matter how much beer I drank, I couldn't get drunk. And then there was the epic freak out session of the bride's sister's son. Dear Jesus Lord in heaven above, the poor kid put his mouth on a curling iron. Yes, that's what I said. He put his mouth on a curling iron. Just one more reason to ponder giving birth.

So let's add all this up shall we?
Cost of gifts including giant ass gift bags: $95. Did I mention the wedding was in BFE? So, $30 for gas, $70 for a hotel room, and $25 for the cab ride to the Widgi Golf Course and Country Club where they got married so I wouldn't have to drive drunk. How much is that? $210 my friends. When I get married, I am getting married in Antarctica, and you will all have to mush your asses up there in snow shoes and fur seal coats. And if you don't come and bring me expensive frost-free gifts, I shall send Pong Pong the Irritable Polar Bear to your igloo archway to chew upon your uncaring heart.

La-di-da, what's next? Oh yes, the stalker across the street. His nickname is Bad Hat among my friends, for his penchant for this ridiculous polar fleece floppy hat that he would wear all the time; even in the dead heat of summer, this ass would be wearing the hat. Come to think of it some of my friends call him Ass Hat as well. Well, a long time ago, I dated Bad Hat for about 6 weeks. What the hell was I thinking? I have no idea. I really don't. Bad Hat is smallish, and he is usually drunk and always smoking a ciggy butt. Tres chic. Anyhoo, Bad Hat broke it off with me because the girl of his dreams from high school was suddenly available. Fine. I was sad for a bit, but then I came to see Bad Hat for what he really is: an idiot. Sometime later the girl of his dreams dumped his scrawny ass and I chuckled heartily. For a long time we did not talk, which was fine with me. But then, for whatever reason, he decided that he needed to be my friend, or something. He now has to cat call at me when I walk home from the bus stop, or when I come out of the house to get into my car. The day I got home from the aforementioned wedding, I was dragging my stuff out of the car and I hear this "HI" from behind me. No no no no no... Then he launches into some diatribe about having his wisdom teeth pulled and whether his insurance will cover it all. Do I care? Here I am, tired from the drive and all I want to do is get into the house and see my cat and L'il Abner won't shut up. Finally I just said look, I'm tired and I'm going in the house. End. Fin. Bad Hat continued to talk until I shut my door. Then not too long after that, I had to get something out of my trunk and once again from behind I hear "HI." I wish he would spontaneously combust. I wish he would get a fucking girlfriend. I wish he would be caught by mutant spiders and rolled up in a silken cocoon of doom. If Bad Hat is not careful, my Honda just may have some sort of malfunction that involves his death.

Moving on. The toe, ah yes, the toe. Here's the scenario: I get home late Friday night and guess who's in his garage boozing it up and blasting music? That's right boys and girls, Bad Hat. I get out of the car and in an attempt to get into the house quickly so as not to alert Bad Hat to my presence, I cut the corner of my apartment complex lawn and kicked my foot into an automatic lawn sprinkler pipe. After the baby Jesus stops talking to me and I catch my breath, I look down and see that the little toe on my left foot is, oh how shall we say, askew? It was jutting off to the left, away from its brethren. I snapped it back into place and then ate a chalupa. Small comfort for such a violent event. Right now my toe is "buddy-taped" to the next toe over, and is a lovely shade of blackberry. The top of my foot is a cadaverous blue. My friends have suggested that I sue my land lord, but I still vote for the Honda malfunction and Bad Hat.

In conclusion, these last few days have been eventful. Would I do it all over again had I the chance? Are you fucking crazy?

*sheeged my axot -- pissed me off