HOLY KEE-RAP!
Turkey Day is less than a week away and I'm broke as hell with no ideas for Christmas gifts. BOLLOCKS.
Tomorrow will in fact be a practice Turkey Day, as I will be attempting to apply direct heat to an 8-pound dead bird in such a way as will make it tasty. This is only practice for next year, mind you. I hold no aspirations to entertain any number of guests with my cooking just yet. Green bean casserole and tuna mac I can manage, Turkey and cheesy potatoes with a buncha side-dishes, nor so much.
Vy got herself a shiner. Ran head-long into the couch, managing to miss the cushions and hitting instead the frame that supports the fold-out bed. Thought it was her nose from the trajectory and the instantaneous wailing (no, she did not spear an orca in the North Atlantic), but it was not, thank goodness. Now she looks like she can take on a baker's dozen of disgraced samurais in a dark alley in Singapore. In the rain. Riding a Dragon.
Okay, fine. It just looks like a black-eye, but she can still fer dang sure take me out with a wrist-twist pile-driver with a face-melting 'bout of "diaper-face." Her wrestling name is Vylynt "Il Nino" Irys. I am "El Padrino."
Starting canvasing breweries today, looking for openings. Met Travis, Master-Brewer of the Detroit Beer Company on Broadway, Downtown, who is the only brewer they will ever have apparently, but he gave me a reference to check out who might now of a guy who knows a place which knows a...ammolo. Talk to Violet about that one. She suggested it.
Anyhoo, bollocks to my baby being trapped a work 'til 8:00 because of stinky ole Parent-Teacher Wrestlemania. I miss mah baby. We'll come tag you out soon!
A'right, Z'nuff. Slag OFF!!
*exeunt n' fleurish*
Tomorrow will in fact be a practice Turkey Day, as I will be attempting to apply direct heat to an 8-pound dead bird in such a way as will make it tasty. This is only practice for next year, mind you. I hold no aspirations to entertain any number of guests with my cooking just yet. Green bean casserole and tuna mac I can manage, Turkey and cheesy potatoes with a buncha side-dishes, nor so much.
Vy got herself a shiner. Ran head-long into the couch, managing to miss the cushions and hitting instead the frame that supports the fold-out bed. Thought it was her nose from the trajectory and the instantaneous wailing (no, she did not spear an orca in the North Atlantic), but it was not, thank goodness. Now she looks like she can take on a baker's dozen of disgraced samurais in a dark alley in Singapore. In the rain. Riding a Dragon.
Okay, fine. It just looks like a black-eye, but she can still fer dang sure take me out with a wrist-twist pile-driver with a face-melting 'bout of "diaper-face." Her wrestling name is Vylynt "Il Nino" Irys. I am "El Padrino."
Starting canvasing breweries today, looking for openings. Met Travis, Master-Brewer of the Detroit Beer Company on Broadway, Downtown, who is the only brewer they will ever have apparently, but he gave me a reference to check out who might now of a guy who knows a place which knows a...ammolo. Talk to Violet about that one. She suggested it.
Anyhoo, bollocks to my baby being trapped a work 'til 8:00 because of stinky ole Parent-Teacher Wrestlemania. I miss mah baby. We'll come tag you out soon!
A'right, Z'nuff. Slag OFF!!
*exeunt n' fleurish*