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So there have been shocking pictures of Amy Winehouse smoking crack.

Um.

Why is it shocking that someone who goes to court looking like this

would be smoking crack?

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This weekend was filled with family fun.

And by “family fun” I mean “I had to spend time with my family and once again question my genetic makeup”.

First, on Saturday we headed out to my Aunt Mormon’s new house so we could look at it and tell her how nice it is, even though we secretly wondered how in the hell they could afford all of the new furniture that she bought. (My aunts love to have stuff that makes people think they lead full, happy lives when secretly they are bitter and angry and full of scorn and judgment.) After we ate a completely bland lunch of chicken enchiladas, spanish rice and green beans (?), we got in the car and went over to my cousin B and his robotic mormon wife’s house to look at how wonderful their huge new house is, and to gawk at their baby and tell them how miraculous and magnificent she is. In spite of the fact that they named her Millie.

FUCKING MILLIE.

All together now: Awwwww.

The first thing I noticed when we walked in to their house was this:

A fucking painting of themselves. So I said, “Jeez, B, where is the hound laying loyally at your lady’s feet?” He told me that he didn’t pay someone to do it, that it was given to him in exchange for some contracting work. That doesn’t mean he had to hang it. Ugh.

Aunt Denial showed up, and she and Aunt Mormon started talking about when the baby was born. Aunt Mormon said, “Well, she scared us to death the minute she was born.”

I said, “Why, did she come out with a knife?” That was not met with the laughter I had hoped for.

We didn’t stay long, thankfully.

That night my mom wanted to go bowling (?), so I agreed to go as long as I didn’t have to bowl and could heckle. We started at the bar, where I ordered a mai tai, but what I got was a glass of rum with a cherry. I was pleased to learn that I can still tie a cherry stem with my tongue.

Sunday morning, after I opened my big mouth about being interested in hiking, my parents and I went on a hike at Runyon Canyon Park in the Hollywood Hills. It was nice, but just offered more proof of how stunningly out of shape I am. It wasn’t easy, but it was fun. I had a scare when my camera strap decided it didn’t want to work anymore, and came loose and my camera (MY EXPENSIVE BRAND NEW CAMERA) fell to the ground. I am not kidding when I say that I almost pissed myself thinking that camera could have been broken. But it didn’t fall on the lens, and so far it seems ok. That Nikon strap can kiss my ass.

After the hike we went to my grandma’s house for barbecue (it’s pulled pork baked in barbecue sauce - we refer to it only as “barbecue”). That is the only reason I agreed to go (food is my motivator), because sitting and listening to her and my uncle Chris Peterson go off on their racist Republican rants is not my idea of fun. Although it was fun to watch their faces when I said that I couldn’t wait to vote for Borak Obama. (I don’t know who I’m voting for as of yet, but watching the shock and disgust on their face was awesome.)

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Finally (finally!!), I saw Juno. It was good. I will say that I don’t think it’s as good as the gushing reviews it’s getting. I do like Ellen Page (she was so creepy in Hard Candy) and Michael Cera, I just wasn’t so into some of the writing. I felt like the writer (Diablo Cody, Hollywood’s new screenwriting darling) tried a little to hard to make the characters ironically hip (like having Juno call her best friend “homes”, and having her friend respond “Swear to blog?” when Juno tells her she’s knocked up), and it just didn’t really work for me. I actually had someone tell me that maybe I “just don’t get sarcasm” when I was talking about it this weekend.

Yeah. That must be it.