45 days...

Yes that's right, I'm 45 days away from getting the hell out of here. I wish it were 45 hours but I'll get very bored in Lennoxville for 2 months with nothing to do and I have 3 guitar projects I'd still like to finish up. I hate this place... I hate it every moment I'm here... so what makes me bitch now? Well, we're ordering pizza.

For the average family, ordering pizza is a one hour process. 15 minutes or so to order, then a 45 minute delivery wait. My family decided to order pizza at 7:30. It's 8:44 and they have yet to make the call. Here's what the process is like:

First my mother decides she doesn't want to cook (a blessing from god really). Pizza is of course the first thing that comes to mind because all her attempts to be "creative" with ordering food have resulted in backed up plumbing. She then informs the rest of the family and asks what they want. It's a very quick answer from myself and my brother in law, but my sister has to debate the advantages and disadvantages of certain toppings for 15 minutes before getting the same thing she always does.

Then we have to decide how much pizza to order. This is of course a very long and complicated mathematical process as the pizza absolutely must be enough for tonight's dinner, tomorrow's lunch, and the side dish to tomorrow's dinner. Another 15 minutes go by. Then where to order. This step begins with my mother reaching for the stack of 10 or so pizza flyers sitting on top of the fridge to look for the place with the best deal. Quality of pizza is irrelevant of course. After another 15 minutes, the same damn place we order from every fucking time is chosen.

Think we're set? Well you're wrong, because it's now about time for my sister to start with the "well maybe we shouldn't order so much" or "maybe we should try a new place" or "I don't think I want pizza tonight". This goes on for another 15 minutes.

Now you're a smart one, I'll bet you've been keeping track of time and think that the pizza should have been ordered at 8:30. So what gives? Well, my mother is in the bathroom, and god forbid we should order before she gets out so that my sister can ask her final "are you sure this is what we should order?"

So now what? We order and 45 minutes later I get to eat my pizza? No. It's absolutely necessary to have soup before my pizza, or I get yelled at. So you figure a good time to start making the soup is maybe half an hour into our order? Well my mother starts making it when she hears the doorbell. This of course delays payment of the pizza guy since they have to call me to come answer the door (since they don't want the pizza people to know that there are frail women in the house). My brother in law could do it, but he's busy getting yelled at by my sister for not backing her up on the whole "well maybe we shouldn't order so much" thing.

45 days...

1080 hours...

64800 minutes...

You get the point.