Since I'm not where I can do anything about getting pics online, folks are going to have to be happy with the sisters in Hello Kitty G-Strings pic from Sunday.
I'm still just enthralled by that whole Les Miz performance and inspired to start writing a little musical theatre. I can't wait to talk a little shop with Frank, my friend who writes musicals.
The kids are having a blast with their cousins. Tonight we hope to go swimming and then imbibe the fruit of the vine with SIL and watch movies whilst the children frolic and watch something downstairs. We went to the park to "fly" kites and now John is pointlessly trying to untie a gigantic knot of kite string. I tried telling him a few times not to bother, but I think he finds it a mental escape, so I'll let him be. Later -- if I don't strangle him with the kite string first -- maybe we can sneak off to some nook or cranny for a little stress release. ;-) I bet that would make his day turn a little brighter. I hope so, anyway.
In the meantime, the death talk begins from MIL. We always get a rundown about who's died and who's being hospitalised and who's terminally ill and ack - how depressing. Gimme some of that kite string, dammit.
SIL and I made a wine run and at some point tonight I will get her raging drunk and attempt to steal her copy of Boondock Saints. She knows I covet it and I'm sure she's booby-trapped it. My oldest niece (16) has likely added her own security measures. If you come back and my blog is on fire, you'll know what happened.
LOL I finally got into Fal's Darth Vader links. Check out round one and round two. :-) Poor Darth! I wish I could understand the punchilne at the end. Any help Fal? Maybe I'll have to run them by sis's boyfriend.
6 comments:
Well, I guess it might, LOL! If there are enough votes for it. I'm becoming such an attention whore! *snicker* (Get this: If I *ever* use the word "whore" in real life, it's cuz I'm quoting someone and I have to whisper it, but here I can just throw it out there, LOL!)
Yeah - I know what you mean about getting the rundown on everyone tracking them through life. It's funny cuz she talks to me like I would know these folks, and they're people I've never, ever met. But she's always had a penchant for morbid topics and of course, as friends age, there's more grist for the morbidity mill. :-P Pleah.
I think your MIL is my aunt. My uncle J. and I hide in the kitchen at Christmas and drink double rum and cokes to escape her. I called her the 'Grim Reaper' as a joke to my sis, Beulah.
Beulah told the whole family and I'm going to surely swing if she finds out it was me.
Grim Reaper started knitting again at Christmas when she was trying to show me how to knit on double pointed needles.
I think she's going to knit herself a death shroud.
Oh, I got most of my packing done.
But I'm really sad tomorrow is my last day to get my B&B Chef fix! Boo.
ROTFLOL!! Death shroud!!! *gigglesnort*
Oh, no! Maybe you can get bold and give him a goodbye snog! }:->
I got to see a lot of musical theatre as a kid; one summer, I had my sister put on a production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. We sat outside painting a very large piece of vynil "technicolours". When it was dry, it was immensely stiff, making the play more hilarious than I was really trying for.
So what on Earth does dh tie the kite string to while you hide in some nook & cranny (for some fook & fanny)?
(yes, I sometimes move out of "Fal speaks romantic" mode) :o)
Blither - Hi! Thanks for stopping by!!
Jay - I would love to see a picture of that, LOL! Lucky girl. My main exposure to musical theatre has been Veggie Tales. :-P Which is great, don't get me wrong, but obviously I need to branch out.
Fal - Listen to you! Hey, I think you're finally starting to lose your Iowa accent (in my head - sorry you got saddled with IA. It's not like it was a conscious choice.) You need to post an audio clip or 2 on your blog like Egan does. Dh used the kite string to the the door shut and then to tie me up. Still working on the bloody knots. I can still only get so far from the door. . .
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