Dorothy, we're not on Queen St. Anymore.

Last week I quietly slipped onto a bus with a plane ticket neatly tucked into the front pocket of my bag and made my way to the airport.

A week later, I've let my blogging duties slip. But you can't blame a guy for taking some time to catch up with the life he once lived.

Since making the prodigal's return to Manitoba, I've sipped beers, smoked shisha, and caused as much trouble as possible celebrating friends both new and old.

With Christmas morning now making its inevitable appearance, I'm starting to get worn out, ready for my own bed in my own condo back in the city that has firmly become home number two.

With a new ticket to Paris arriving in my e-mail inbox this morning, I'm in debt, and happy.

Merry Christmas.

Oh, and My dad rules, hard.