It's Not You, It's Me: The Breaking Up With America Deportation Extravaganza

In just over a week, Mika and I will be going back to Vancouver and I'm not the only one who's having a hard time being optimistic about the move. Mika has somehow figured out that we're leaving (more proof that she secretly speaks English) and is acting out. Case in point: last night. While A. and I were watching "Dead Ringers," Mika got inspired and unleashed her inner David Cronenberg by killing and snacking on a baby bunny, dragging it in through my window, and depositing it on my living-room rug right as the movie was getting all "heroin-and-bizarre-gynacological-instruments"-y. That night, she kept me up from 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. meowing and biting my chin. When I finally let her out, she packed her kitty bags and ran away to A.'s house, where she broke in through an open window and refused to leave. Yes, it looks like there's a little feline-shaped seat on the Struggle Train. At least she's not acting out by smoking crack behind the 7-11.

But while Mika's been throwing cat-tantrums, I've been trying to make the most of my final weeks in Champaign-Urbana. My original plan was to say 'yes' to every social opportunity, though I had to tweak this plan a little when someone rather strenuously offered me meth at a BBQ (not even once! Not. Even. Once). There have been too many highlights to mention (Kimberly, Erin C. and I rocking Allerton Park by posing beside every statue of a half-naked man, half-naked centaur, unintentionally suggestive Chinese musician, or Fu Dog; the Room 248 Reunion Party; randomly deciding to purchase and eat a large cake with LeFevs, Shelley and Donnie in a campus bar while drinking the world's nastiest $3 margarita), but the main event was "It's Not You, It's Me: The Breaking Up With America Deportation Extravaganza and Dance Party."

Though the name was long and egotistical, my goodbye party was really just a chance for me to hang out at The Esquire with people I might not see again. And you know what? Even though I have a semi-detached ass, a wonky hip, and a one-way ticket back to Canada, I have fantastic, fantastic friends. Erin C. made me an awesome cake based on the "Hark, A Vagrant!" web comic and bought me three cards: a retirement card for my Freaky Cyborg Hip; a "congratulations on getting re-attached" card for my ass; and a general card for me. (There are good friends, and then there are good friends awesome enough to buy you a card for your ass). Erin McQ bought me flowers and tons of other people contributed to my mission of getting sappily drunk on bourbon (mission accomplished). It was great to see all the 20+ people who showed up to help me break up with America, even though knowing what good friends I have in the Midwest will make it extra hard to leave.

Next stop on the Struggletown Express: figuring out how the hell I'm going to pack four years worth of stuff into one PT Cruiser.