A lot has changed for Leonard the Alcoholic Unicorn over the last six months.

He’s moved into a new house with me, in the wake of my divorce.*

He’s moved into a new bar in the new house, and taken up drinking sake.

And he’s taken over pretty much all my drinking, since I’m currently enjoying** a surprise mid-life pregnancy.***

Obviously a lot has changed for me too – including setting up a whole new Facebook profile to instantly cull all the people who have unfriended me in real life, but for some reason not on Facebook (Why?  Laziness?  Spying for The Ex? Spying for the NSA? Think I’m the Whore of Satan but just can’t live without my cutting digital repartee?  Enquiring minds want to know!  Oh wait. No they don’t. Enquiring minds actually don’t give a gnat’s testical)

So my collection of Facebook friends is a lot more …..streamlined ……than it used to be, which is fine with ME but of course has Facebook in an absolute tizzy. “Friends” are to Facebook as cookies are to Cookie Monster. You can never have too many, even when you know they’re bad for you.  So my newsfeed is CONSTANTLY suggesting People I Might Know. Which is where it gets weird.

Some of those suggestions I understand. Friends of friends and whatnot. Frequently in the category of “Yes I know them and there’s a reason I haven’t friended them. Shut up, Facebook”. But some of them are in the more disturbing category of “Yes I know them but how the hell did YOU know I know them, Facebook?”

We’re talking people I have NO mutual friends with…… my son’s PE teacher from five years ago. A former tenant. My crazy-ass neighbor.  How? What? Friends of friends of friends? Some social media version of Six Degrees of Separation?  If so, how come Facebook never suggests Kevin Bacon?  Do I even want to know? Probably not, if I want any chance of saving Leonard’s liver.

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*no, that’s not a topic for a frivolous blog such as this, although  I may at some point rant cathartically about it on an entirely separate blog.  One with naughty words and a warning label, but probably just as much drinking.

**yeah, that’s the word I’m going with.

***obviously all of this means that the WLD cast of characters will henceforth be referred to a little differently. “Hubby” is now “the Ex”, My kids will continue to be “The Hair”, “The Voice”, “The Drama”, and “The Kitten”.  New baby (due in about 6 weeks) is “The Kicker” (see what I did there?  Think about it. It’s funny. Really), and The Kicker’s daddy, when he makes a blog appearance (which he likely will at some point, because he’s hilarious and also keeps stealing Leonard’s sake) will be known as “The Canadian”.

So Hubby went off to play games* with some buddies while I was Otherwise Occupied**.  Then he started texting me how much everyone loves my blog.

My blog. That I haven’t posted on since waaaaay before Donald Trump was a serious presidential contender***.

Apparently I’m hilarious. And brilliant (new word alert!  “brillarious”. Or “hilliant”. I’m leaning toward brillarious, hilliant sounds too much like a Hillary Clinton sycophant. But I digress)

People, I’m an artist. I need validation and flattery and fawning to stroke my fragile but oversized ego and spur me to greater brillariousness……. Ok that’s a lie. Fawning and flattery make me all awkwardly embarrassed, which I guess is its own kind of funny so go ahead if it amuses you. Sicko.

But I’m just saying …..the occasional comment would increase the likelihood of getting another brillarious blog post for your amusement.  Or at least getting one before the increasingly likely “Leonard drinks because good grief Donald Trump is president there is not enough wine in the WORLD” entry…..

Just saying.

*what games, I don’t know. Board games? Mind games? Tennis? Could be anything. 

**so many reasons for Leonard to drink

***so, SO many…….

There was a moment near the beginning of Terminator Genisys, when John Connor was getting ready to send Kyle Reese back through time, and I thought, wait a minute, have they just done a straight remake of the origin story from a different protaganist’s point of view?

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!  Not even close.

SPOILERS!

There’s Old Arnold fighting Young (Naked) Arnold.  There’s Reese getting hunted by a T-1000 in 1984.  There’s Sarah Connor Kicking Butt with Serious Weaponry WAY ahead of schedule because an Arnold Terminator saved her life in 1973 and then freaking adopted her.  That old song about kung-fu fighting started playing in my head, except it went Everybody was time travel-ing…..

Seriously, if they mess with the timeline any MORE, they’re going to need Doctor Who to sort it out.  Oh, wait, there he is!  Well, Matt Smith as …. Skynet.  I think.

I mean really, are we just going to keep sending terminators back further and further in time to kill or save John Connor’s parents? Grandparents?  Great Grandparents?  Of course now he’s been (SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER) turned into the latest greatest terminator killing machine and apparently the new Father of Skynet ….maybe we WANT to.

Whatever.  If you’re looking for a smart movie go see ….. I don’t know, something foreign I guess.  But if you’re happy to swig a couple of beers and go see Arnold (regular and CGI!) blow shit up without worrying about how much sense the plot makes?  Then we’ve got a winner.

Have another drink, Leonard.  Apparently it’s the start of a trilogy……

Bottled Mocha Frappuccinos are caffeinated sugary CRACK, and I had the excess fifteen pounds to show for it in my mid 30s.  But not to worry!  They’re also a “good source of calcium & protein”.

I’m not falling for it. I mean SURE I bought them, but I did so knowing full well I was not buying a health drink but 180 calories per bottle of pure addiction.  Sometimes I don’t make good life choices.

Shut up Leonard. This has nothing to do with those five pounds that won’t go away.

The tattoo says, “All Things are Possible”. Ha! Irony.

Specifically, the five damn pounds that doesn’t want to leave after you turn forty.

It’s like it’s trying to be comforting or something.  “It’s ok you’re not young and pretty anymore, we’ll never leave you!”

Five pounds wouldn’t be a big deal except for two reasons:

1:  My fat thinks I’m a guy.  Apparently it’s fooled by my ability to use a power drill and read road maps.  So instead of distributing itself evenly , or adding a little padding to my butt and thighs, it all goes straight on my belly.  The only reason I don’t look kind of pregnant is because my belly pooch is still WAY overshadowed by my ludicrous and unavoidable bosom.  Meanwhile, I have an ass like a ten year old boy.

2:  If I go even a few pounds over my ideal supermodel weight, I start to snore.  No, I don’t mean a light and delicate lady-like purring, I mean snore like a freight train.  Like a freight train driven by a lumberjack with a foghorn, and filled with warthogs.  Warthogs with sinus infections.  I’d say “allegedly” except once, Offspring #1 recorded me. And whatever severe punishment my husband might deserve for his various sins, he doesn’t deserve to sleep next to that unholy cacophony.

I USED to be able to drop five pounds with a little calorie cutback …..but now?  Crap.  I might have to exercise.  Unless I can find a unicorn to do THAT for me.

Rabbits, I figured, were the perfect solution.

Offspring #2 has a dog phobia ….well not so much phobia as whatever the fancy Latin word is for deep, deep loathing ….. and Husband has a cat allergy.  Fish aren’t cuddly, dwarf hamsters bite, and mice smell.  We did have some success with an elderly guinea pig……

But rabbits.  EVERYONE loves bunnies!  Perfect family pets.  Bunnies.

And mostly they are.  They’re cute and entertaining and don’t bark.  They use the litter tray (mostly) unless they get pissed off about something and then they just kick it around everywhere.  They live in a pen in the corner of the living room because They Are Part Of The Family and the rescue shelter made me sign a nine page document saying so and spelling out exactly how pampered they had to be.

You know what makes a mess though?  Hay.  The hay gets everywhere.  Offspring #3 replenishes their hay twice daily and it gets ALL over the rug.

I’ve gotten used to it.  Yeah, you can get used to hay perpetually on the living room rug and a few random bits of rabbit poo here and there (but it’s MOSTLY in the litter tray!!)  Oh, and a litter tray in the corner of the living room.  You can get used to that too.  You can get used to anything, apparently.  But then people come over, people who DON’T have house bunnies, and after they leave I wonder, should I apologize for the hay and bunny poo on the floor??

And then Leonard just looks at me and drinks some more.

10.30 at night, I pull up to the building and it is thumping, thumping, to “YMCA”.  The classics never die, I guess.  Somewhere inside, in the mass of teenage thespians, my 12 year old son is Getting Down With His Bad Self.

My internal monologue is mostly I’m a good mommy I’m a good mommy I’m a good mommy because I AM, dammit.  It’s a really well supervised dance party at  the youth theater company he’s involved with, and has a strict, STRICT, code of conduct.  People have been banned for way less than you’d see any given day at any given junior high.  Good Mommy.

But it’s also I’m not ready for this because I’m NOT.  Sons #1 with the Hair and #2 with the Voice* never gave me any trouble.  They just quietly gangled and videogamed their way up through puberty.  I’m sure there were hormones involved; they both sprouted a respectable number of zits, cast sideways glances at girls, and seemed to grow six inches every week, but there was no trouble.  They Kept Calm and Watched Monty Python.

THIS, however, is #3….. with the DRAMA!!  The boy never walks anywhere.  He struts, he flounces, he saunters or boogies.  Where his brothers placidly ignored their adolescent blackheads, he found a small sprinkling on the side of his nose, gasped in horror and leapt flamboyantly for the Nutrogena Acne Wash.  He talks to me about girls. He’s twelve.

So the small voice of sanity and realism that I’d prefer to ignore (la la la LA LA I can’t HEAR you!!!) is whispering in my ear …..  Buckle up kiddo, it’s gonna be a loooooooong and bumpy ride.

Leonard’s gonna need more wine.

* Ah yes, The Voice.  Tall skinny 16 year old white kid, with glasses and a super geek vibe and a deep bass voice like Barry White.  Equal parts weird and awesome.

Offspring #3 was hiking today at the Ranch.  The Ranch is where we pay hundreds of dollars for him to hike and look at goats and make leather moccasins.  Well, actually the Ranch is where we pay hundreds of dollars to have him out of the house and away from his siblings for a few hours a week.  Money well spent.

Anyway, on the hike he saw a king snake, so he picked it up.  Because, and I quote, “Why wouldn’t you pick up a king snake?…..I’m a wild man!”

Yes, there was adult supervision.  Right next to him, apparently………

(Leonard is really drinking more for my husband on this one.  He’s never been fond of snakes since his parents took him at age five to a zoo in Africa where he witnessed a snake eating a goat.  A goat just about the same size as a five year old child ..….)

“This is the plague with which the Lord will strike all the nations that fought against Jerusalem: Their flesh will rot while they are still standing on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths. On that day people will be stricken by the Lord with great panic. They will seize each other by the hand and attack one another. Judah too will fight at Jerusalem. The wealth of all the surrounding nations will be collected—great quantities of gold and silver and clothing. A similar plague will strike the horses and mules, the camels and donkeys, and all the animals in those camps.”

-Zechariah 14:12-15 

Zombie plague, rioting, looting, zombie animals.

That’s how Leonard reads it.

Nothing ruins a nice glass of chardonnay by the fire pit like a wild turkey wandering through the yard and taking a massive dump right by the outdoor kitchen.  Yes, wild turkeys.  Suicidal squirrels and roving gangs of marauding raccoons and skunks aren’t enough anymore.

Now we get turkeys.

The LAST time we had a turkey roaming the yard it was a mama turkey with like, eight baby turkeys.  Baby turkeys are cute.  But it turns out turkeys are CRAP mothers.  This one flew over the neighbor’s fence and left her babies behind, chirruping under the banana trees.  I don’t know if she thought we’d baby-sit or what …… Anyway the next time we saw her she only had TWO babies.

Nature!