I, oh, uh- I'm still a-live...

Altho I'm supremely tired and decided a minute ago to have a quick nap, I realized I was kidding myself, that I wouldn't wake up, and I'd better get bloggin', because I owe a couple of entries.
I was, of course, in Liverpool this weekend for Brian and Meaghan's wedding.
After much discussion, much anxiety and anticipation on many people's parts, it finally happened.
Friday's drive down was fun, but relaxing for me-- it was mostly Greg and Andy chatting about the music scene, with the ocassional comment from Blake and I, while Natalie napped so sweetly on Andy's shoulder.
Had we gone in the other vehicle earlier in the day, the story would be different, but this is not my story to tell. Bride and groom were apparently feeling a bit anxious, yet good times were still had by all, so the story goes (shit, that wasn't my story to tell).
We arrived in Liverpool at 6 something, checked in at Whitepoint, were blown away by all the bunnies laying in the most bizarre areas, returned to the Liverpool Superstore for some good groceries, and went to David and Debbie Lingley's for the rehearsal dinner/party.
When we arrived there, predictably, everyone was pretty in the sauce. I have no idea who was there as far as relatives, but we quickly found a comfortable spot on the Lingadingdeck to catch up to everyone else's wastedness. I had a couple Pursource coolers (which were a tad sweet) then quit there. The buzz I got came quickly and lingered for a good while, and I was content chatting and sitting in lawn chairs until the skies began to piss, and we made our way to the Lingadingbasement. BASS!
Spontaneously, after a day of relatively cooperative intestines, my bowels began to protest and I spent a good portion of the evening in the bathroom (both upstairs and down), both shitting and crying. Something came over me in the basement, not quite sure what, but I got emotional (yes, about your anus) and decided it was best to take my cry face somwhere else. The last thing I wanted was to bring attention to myself crying during an event that had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Brian and Meaghan's wedding. So when I wasn't in the bathroom for one purpose or another, I spent my time in the basement doing anything possible to make myself smile and enjoy it, because I knew I was enjoying it in theory. It was the kind of party that I would generally find really killer--it seemed so nostalgic, as if we were all 16 and our parents were away. This is what I have been so keen for lately anyway, to feel like I'm 16 again. Air hockey (or fooze ball, I have no idea, I don't remember. Oh shit-- was it both?) and listening to old metal on vinyl, checking out neato relics of David and Debbie's-- like the first edition of Interview with the Vampire, a million wicked pieces of vinyl, etc, and watching Emily spend a long, long time cutting Brian's hair (she did a fab job), while both perched atop the pool table. I flitted around a lot, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I took a couple of good swigs of Casey's rum and cried in the bathroom. Heather noticed (sweet of her to voice concern, along with also offering to make me supper and grant every wish I might ever have-- altho unfortunately I didn't even make it to her house). Blake noticed. Finally Emily and I went outside and sat on the Aliant steps (and I felt like a scab). A guy passed us and said what's up and shot a cool hand in our direction. and i cried a bit more and Greg and Blake and Natalie came outside and all was eventually better, although I still felt like a louse.
So we went back to Whitepoint and who knows what we did there for a while besides eat cookies and shoot the shit and maybe watch tv for a while. Chris wanted to go for a walk, so we wnt to the beach.
And we put our feet in and it was cold as a cabbage in a snowbank. I'm not sure I had ever felt colder waters, or seen them so choppy. Oddly, we kept venturing farther out into the water, and it grew colder and colder.... And I had never, in five years of knowing him, heard Chris show so much emotion as he did as the cold dug into his body. And, like addicts, we for some reason CRAVED the icy grip of the sea. More, more, more. Chris stripped down to his boxerbriefs and raced into the choppy dark sea, screaming wildly the whole time. Not to be outdone, I did the same. We mucked about in the ocean for quite a while, to the questionable delight of the folks at the campfire, and the folks taking pictures. When finally, we thought we'd had enough, my eager brother comes to find us and tempts us back in the cold ocean deep. And again, we screamed bloody murder, like I've not done before, and challenged the waves to pull me under. Before we jumped in, Chris and I felt like doing a Mick Mars-- passing out in the sea and waiting for someone to fish our cold bodies off the beach the next morning. Such was the tone of our moods, before we jumped in. After we all frolicked in the frigidness of the sea for a half hour, I think I can speak for all of us by saying that it revived us. I was able to go to bed without thinking the saddest thoughts. Mostly all I could think of was how I thought my body temperature might never rise.
So I was lucky (?) that I got to sleep between two hot bodies-- Blake and Emily. I HATE sleeping in the middle, but since I was drunk and cold and exhausted, I figured it wouldn't matter, and it was nice when I eventually got to sleep, but then it wasn't nice when I had to get up every hour to shit a river, my ass aflame, and apparently wake Chris up every time (or maybe he never got to sleep). Emily said I felt like a bag of frozen peas, which I like to think is the worst insult I've ever received while in bed with someone.
Before we went to bed, though, Blake was still wired, and went exploring and took Chris with him. This was awesome because we used walkie talkies and Chris reported the important parts of their hike in proper CB radio fashion. They found lots of bunnies and frogs and asked for backup. So I sent Greg. And they returned pretty late. And Blake wanted to go adventuring again. When he returned and opened the patio doors, the most specific stream of light shone on Greg's face, which we had noticed when we all settled down earlier. Somehow it was way more hilarious when we'd all been dragged out of sleep. Probably a lot funnier to us than ist seems to you now.
And now I am beat, with a such a meager (not meagher) amount of sleep, and I must pass out, only to share with you the remains of the best trip to Liverpool yet, hopefully all tomorrow.