Those good times, they come and they go

I spent this weekend up in Prescott...where the weather didn't go above 72, the toilets easily clogged when flushing a tampon and where I could spend a good night praying to porcelain gods. It pretty much ruled. I didn't want the weekend to come to an end. It was so nice and relaxing, no worries, no drama, no...nothing. Just good times with good friends. Well, the weasels good friends, whom I got to meet for the first time. I was nervous about it, but I think it went well. I think I've been deemed worthy to continue my relationship with the weasel...which is a good thing, cause I don't plan on going anywhere, so they're stuck with me. But, one of them started calling me hooker, and that can only mean that he liked me and felt comfortable enough with me to call me hooker...repeatedly. That's Smelly Pirate Hooker to you, Woodman! So now I'm back to this hell hole otherwise known as work. One more month til I'm free. Born free isn't the right song, but it's the first that comes to mind.