Well, my devoted readers. You can remove the shotgun from your mouths as I have once again returned to give you the lowdown on my life and fill you in on what's shaking, as people with more interesting lives than I might say. I said it merely in sarcasm as the more persceptive of you will know, not much happens in the life of one missus Mia. Nevertheless, I'll ramble on about what little I can come up with for your enjoyment as always. Flowers are politefully declined but those that would like to thank me for this effort will be directed to my bank account.

Well, Saturday night saw my hermit lifestyle come crashing down when I attended a dear friend's birthday party. Not knowing what she was about to destroy, she gracefully offered her guests free alcohol. Listen here, people. DO NOT OFFER ME FREE ALCOHOL UNDER ANY FREAKIN CIRCUMSTANCES. (However, if you do feel absolutely compelled to do this make mine a triple malibu on the rocks with a dash of pineapple juice). My original intentions were to make a fashionably late and stylishly short stop at this party, fill the air with the aroma of my unchallenged sweetness and then be on my way back to Mormon solitude with my beloved television set. As it turned out, due to aforementioned free alcohol, this ended up not being the case. In the politest of terms applicable, I got shitfaced. Thankfully, my brain has surpressed most of the painfully embarrassing memories of that night for reasons I dont think I need to elaborate on. The parts I do remember however do not look too good for me. After committing acts that ensure I will have to bow my head in shame every time I run into anyone who was unfortunate enough to be at said party with me, I decided that there was no better way to top off the night than to pay the local titty bar a visit. After snagging a free cab ride down there through being unbearably obnoxious, I proceeded to stomp through the door without paying, simply by loudly making the doormen aware that I WAS GOING IN. Unfortunately for my dignity, they let me get away with that. Hellfire and brimstone awaits them for that little act of blatant cruelty, I'm sure. Once inside I kept downing "refreshments" which I had decided were also free at the bar since they had been so at the party. Again, I was allowed to get away with this. This did nothing to help me save face, I assure you. I then proceeded to get overly friendly with a guy I met, for reasons unknown. But I remember that we named each other The Christian Soldier and Little Mormon Molly, and we made arrangements to go ice skating were we to wake up unscathed from the night's consumption of ungodly beverages. I will naturally argue should he get a hold of me that I am far from unscathed and am rather somewhat scarred for life. Upon leaving the bar at 10 am in the morning which I found to be an appropriate time as I had promised to make an appearance at the mormon church four hours later, I was gravely assaulted in the parking lot by maddened hooligans. This episode of blatant violence left me critically injured as they had managed to break one of my perfectly sculpted fingernails, shining like justice in the night. I vowed to find out who these young men are and should I find them I shall naturally, in swift poetic justice, burn everything they own. Fairness is my middle name, after all.


I woke up at 2 pm the next day, thinking I was dead which then turned to wishing I was dead when I realised that I wasn't. Furthermore, I felt unable to attend church as I would have stunk up the church smelling like a Milwaukee brewery to the 8th power. This did not go over well with the missionaries who came to see me on Monday and were told upon asking why I had missed church that I had unfortunately been comatose from drinking. They were less than impressed with me, I might say.

During the Monday morning lesson Sisi again embarrassed the living daylights out of me by #1 screaming at the missionaries that her mother does not own her, #2 telling them that God had not put us on this earth so that we couldn't get some ass, #3 asking one of them first if he intended to use birth control when he started screwing and then whether he ever cursed, and what exactly did he say when he curses, #4 by suggestively groaning "Mmm, lookin mighty fine baby...shiiiat". And when they admired my christmasy reindeer slippers, she said "oh yes...we are crazy" followed by a neurotic laugh that would have creeped out the most psychotic of individuals.

SUBTLETY IS KEY. SUBTLE. SUBTLE. SUBTLE. I can't stress that enough. But it's hard when some people just do not appear to know the meaning of the word subtlety, nor when to shut the hell up. Now I realise that those who do not know Sisi do not at all understand just how mortifying the above situation was, and to those of you who do, well...your sympathies are gracefully accepted. The next lesson is on Friday morning. Me and my friend Michael have devised a malicious scheme for that lesson, starting with an innocent glass of lemonade. I won't go into this any further as it might gross out the faint hearted, but I can promise you this: This is what legends are made of.