Can I say HOLA friends instead? Because I have a sick child home from school today watching Dora the Explorer.
Actually he's flipping between Dora and the Price is Right, which isn't helping my IL seperation anxiety and my get-your-buns-back-to-school-already complex.
Can I ask you guys a question? Do you guys ever get the urge to haul off and smack me?
I really need to be smacked around today. Anyone up for it? Anyone? Anyone?
I'm flat today.
I don't even have an urge to inhale whipped cream from a can.
I think my ILs tricked me. I think they melted my stone cold heart when I wasn't looking, then poured it into a shampoo bottle and took it home with them on the jet plane. I just hope they didn't pack it in their carry on because that would mean my heart is stuck in some trash bin at the airport right now.
Ain't that just like life.
I am such a hypocrite!
There I said it. I like my ILs, OKAY! So sue me!
In fact, if I get enough sleep, I actually find them extremely entertaining.
Life is so JUNK when they're not around to point at and laugh.
(I think I'm going to have to add Barry Manilow's Can't Smile Without You to our BAA playlist.)
Hey, but Martha's parents are here now. Maybe I can point and laugh at them.
Or maybe I can point and laugh at my friends.
I'll start with these feet.
These are Swirl's feet. HELLOOOOOOO, Swirl. Haven't you ever heard the saying, Shoes make the man?
Well, shoes make the woman too, girlfriend. What the what are these 2 mismatched, oversized, two right slippahs saying about YOU? Especially on inaugaration day, darling.
I would have let it slide had it happened only once. The first time was funny, but repeat offending is just wrong.
Could everyone please go here and give Swirl a swift kick in the pants. And while you're at it get in line for her great bookclub4boys giveaway. (Grab me a fast pass while you're there. I want the Franny K. Stein books.)
Okay, now let's point and laugh at my next door neighbor, Martha.
Here's Martha trying to be a rock star on New Years eve. If you listen closely you can hear her singing LaBamba with great enthusiasm. (I would put it on the playlist, but . . . no.)
And here's my friend, Colleen. You don't know her yet (unless you read my comment box). We traveled to D.C. together last year and happened to run into Obama in the train station. She started screaming and waving her hands in the air like she just didn't care. (You would have thought it was Jack Johnson.)
Oh and here's a picture of my MIL after I got her hooked on Rock Band.
Do you think this could be a magic baseball card? Maybe I could rub it and go back in time and tell Jackie Robinson that there's a black president in the White house. Do you think he would kiss me if I brought him such news?
Okay, I'm going to go blow my nose now.
P.S. speaking of kissing . . . here are a few more . . . ahem . . . kissing stories:
Shelle, my virtual twin. Grab an ice water spray bottle for this one girls. (And Shelle's got 91 followers. Let's get her to the 100 mark.)
Mariko, my daughter's hoity toity English teacher waxing poetic on (im)perfect romance. (As only she can wax poetic.)
Jen, part II of how she got kicked out of the virgin lips club at Ricks. The conclusion was worth the wait.