I was up late last night. The voices in my head and I were not getting along. Also, The Boy gave me his imaginary cough. It has a lot of oomph a lot for a not-thing.

Don't mind me. I'm a little punch-drunk. One too many hits with the snake. Going back to bed now.

( Aiii! (Picture) )

Bear has no appreciation for things that are so awful they're wonderful. He hated Death Race 2000, said Hairspray cost him IQ points, and "Where is Love" and "I Walk The Line" as interpreted by Leonard Nimoy had him wincing, looking at me funny because I thought it was hysterical ( Read more... )

Looking at the info for Glory Road because I'm stalling. And I found the part I want to put on my acting resumé: Racist #3.

There are movers out front. I just watched one of them tape his pants on. No, seriously.

The Boy has been invited to stay downstairs for the night. The adults are alone in the house. In celebration, I shall post nekkid pictures of myself!

Well, no.

What do grown-ups do again?

Coffee makes me sleepy. There's something very wrong with me, I think.

She says as she manages to flavor the cleavage with coffee. Oi.

Have you seen the new Wendy's commercials with the Ranch Tooth? Is it me or does it sound like it's related to the Snausages dog?

Ranch. Snausages.

My husband has a helluva time getting opinions from me on things like dinner...

Bear, attempting to get me to choose a company: Who would you like to deliver pizza to you?
Me: Orlando Bloom.
Bear: And when you envision this, what logo is on his shirt?
Me: Shirt?

Dude! Gallon jugs of milk and 2-liter bottles of soda. Weird.