Alastair asked me to draw him some black & white graphics of sainted monkeys sporting halos as groundwork for a possible tattoo, based on his firm belief that Aztec monkey gods are looking out for him. This was an exciting proposal, except for the fact that any drawing skill I may have had as a child has withered and died from lack of use over the past decade. But who am I to deny a friend? Especially a friend who helps me carry my heavy laundry, and isn’t afraid to take me out to dine in public when I have a hideous, disfiguring cold sore. So I hunkered down to my sketch pad, shook the cobwebs off of my Faber Castells, and flexed my atrophied hand muscles until the fine motor skills started to come back. Here are the questionable results:

This afternoon I’m going out to see Amadeus with my boss, Lorne, who had an extra ticket handy. And then tomorrow is apple picking! Woo hoo! At the last minute, Edward and Darren had to cancel, which makes me sad. In their place, keeping the numbers at an even twenty, we have two interesting new additions to our (literal) field trip. Marty, one of Alastair’s oldest friends from Ottawa and all-round cool guy, and Chris, Best Man at the wedding from this past weekend, who is bringing his Little Brother, as in ‘Big Brothers’ (although his actual little brother will be there too, new bride in tow).

Just another action-packed weekend. Making a concerted effort to ensure this time gets a spotless bill of decency and wholesomeness, to even things out from last week. Self-destructive behaviour is bad form. Attempting to cut it right out.