Home, Home, Home, Home, Home!

I am on my way home!  I cannot wait.  I miss my dog.  I miss the Butcher.  I miss saying things in Spanish and having Mack laugh at me saying things like “There’s not such name as “Surge-eee-oh, for starters.”  I can hardly wait to ask him all about pachoco culture and whether he’s old enough to have owned a zoot suit and if he calls me bolillo (or, perhaps, if there is such a word, bolilla) behind my back.  If so, I will challenge him to catos and we will smoke some grifa to make up afterwards.

Ha, I amuse me.

I wish my mom had come to Montreal with me, though I must say that I was surprised how much French I understood, considering that I spent that year of French in high school goofing off and getting stabbed in the face with a pen–Chris Brainard, no I haven’t forgotten, thank you very much*.  She would have had a good time, though and it would have been fun to see her speaking French in public.

I was a little disappointed to see that the Burger King here in the airport is not a Burger Roi, but what can you do.

I keep having dreams that the Professor and I have opened a brothel and our girls consist of Kate O, Rachel, and Coble and some other chicks I don’t know in real life and in some of the dreams I’m trying fruitlessly to serve breakfast while the Professor attempts to prove that there is a God by monitoring the brainwaves of orgasming women in order to pinpoint the exact moment that the universe opened up and poured through them, obviously, right on the kitchen table.  And in the dream this morning, Coble was explaining why she was turning my brothel into a train station, which upset me a great deal.

Also, I am convinced that Bruce Springsteen’s version of “Buffalo Gals” is just about the most fun song ever.

Ah, folks, I am ready to come home.  I’m lonely and I miss the sound of your voices and it’s been a hard trip for me in ways that have deeply shook me.  I guess, at the least, it’ll give me something to talk to the horse therapist about on Friday.

Also, I love my iPod but I’m worried it’ll make me deaf.

And, one last thing.  Please, someone, explain to me two things about the Spanish.  One, what is with all the cheek kissing?  *smack* *smack* *smack* all week long.  Clearly, if I’m going to hang out with Spanish speakers, I’m going to have to overcome my aversion to having strangers get that close to me.  Second, what’s with the b’s and v’s?  Is it vato or bato?

Okay, I think that’s everything.

Keep the light on for me.

*In all fairness, it was a tragic accident.

11 thoughts on “Home, Home, Home, Home, Home!

  1. “Coble was explaining why she was turning my brothel into a train station, which upset me a great deal.” – I don’t know why, but that cracks me right up.

  2. what is with all the cheek kissing? *smack* *smack* *smack* all week long. Clearly, if I’m going to hang out with Spanish speakers, I’m going to have to overcome my aversion to having strangers get that close to me.

    Heh. You know how everyone kisses right-left-right? When I was in Spain there was a wonderful game show on TV, with a male host and a female associate (sorta like whosis and Vanna White, although the show was nothing like Wheel of Fortune). And the female associate always kissed the contestants left-right-left. I was convinced it was to shake them up and make them nervous.

  3. That is one of the things I miss about living in Miami…it was always so wonderful to greet each other with those kisses and physical affection.

    When I moved up here, it took me awhile to get used to people not doing that.

  4. Welcome home, Aunt B.
    Hope it got better, and it seemed it did. There is a part of me that wishes that I could have gone to Montreal with you, because I know the fun places that aren’t so weird.
    Hope you got a chocolate croissant!

  5. Coble, I think you underestimate my, your, and Kate’s collective charm. ;)

    Indeed! I’m very nearly offended. ;)

    Welcome home, B!

  6. Wow. One God? Many gods? Loving gods? A vengeful God? Or merely a higher being? I don’t think that orgasms prove the existence of anything but orgasms, and isn’t that enough to live for? I think that the fact that George Clinton is still alive and still performing and partying is as close as there is to proof of a higher being. That being knows that we still have some funkifying to do and so Clinton is defying death to complete that mission. But, I’ll still run the brothel with you in case others don’t yet accept my proof or just want to let me have some kind of participation in their orgasms. What was I wearing during the experiments?

  7. Welcome back! I can tell you what it is in Spanish with the “Bs” and the “Vs” — it all depends on what regional dialect the speaker speaks. There’s also a thing where “D” sounds like “TH” (in Castillian Spanish). Not sure which dialect turns “B” to “V” or vice bersa.

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