After spending the summer treading the boards on the legit stage, my friend Jon came up to visit. It had been a while since we've hung out and it was so good to see him. We jumped right back into the old routine of singing Sinatra songs when it seemed inappropriate, ate good food and watched a lot of Lifetime TV at my sister's house. Good times.

One night I decided to have some people over for a bonfire because if there's one thing Jon loves more than his booze, it's fire. The pit is in my backyard, which is on a pretty steep slope, made all the more tricky when my landlord refuses to give my lawn mower back (I periodically borrow my neighbor's lawn mower to do the front lawn so people don't throw think I'm a total pig) so the grass is beautiful white trash length and really slippery at night. I repeatedly fell down the hill, even prior to my getting loaded and I would land about 2 feet from the fire everytime. At least now I know sort of what it's going to feel like when that inevitable day arrives and I take that trip to hell.

So the fire's going well, everyone's having a good time and I held out for as long as I could to keep from peeing, but I finally had to give in to my hot, full bladder. As I'm going up the back stairs, that I'm sure were built back when the earth was still cooling, someone warned me to be careful because one of the boards on the small deck felt loose. I thought to myself "Ain't no matter, I'm fine." On my way back, again the group warned me to be careful on the deck and I'm all "Oh stop being so cautious!" Two seconds later I'm FALLING THROUGH THE DECK and am surrounded up to neck by wood and nails and some branches from a tree I grabbed onto in an effort to break my fall. Whoops! Party foul! One of my friends, yes, ONE of my friends ran up to help me out of the rubble and luckily, I didn't get hurt. It would've sucked if like my thigh bone came shooting through my chest in impact, but crisis averted. At least now I have plenty of wood for my next bonfire. Light it up, baby.

Today at work I was listening to some middle eastern music and one of my co-workers thought it was in poor taste, what with my working at a military weapons company and all. Shut up, you aging little douche pump. Go buy another one of those annoying magnetic ribbons and put it on the back of your fucking SUV. Or go pull Cat Stevens off a plane. (As an aside, those idiots claim that Cat "Yusef Islam" Stevens was on a terrorist watch list, yet they let him board a plane? Oooh, get that Peace Train guy. He looks DANGEROUS.)

Which reminds me - my sister and I had a contest during the month of August to see who could steal the most ribbons from people's cars and although it was a very close race, we tied at 17 each. Our parents would be so proud. I don't know what I'm going to do with them other than spray painting them black and stenciling something on them, but I'm not sure what message I want to put out there. That Dr. Phil pisses me off, so maybe I'll start a campaign against him. Somebody's got to.

xo,

Swan Stevens

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