20 minutes and counting...
20 minutes and counting to my weekend....
Just ate 2 bags of Cool Ranch Doritos--2 because the first bag got stuck on the coil thingy in the vending machine, so had to buy a 2nd bag in order to push original down. Yep, ate them both. And a Diet Coke. On slow afternoons such as this, I'm weak.
Bob Marley is on the radio. Jamaica, I can't wait to visit you! I hope that reggae is all we hear for SIX SOLID DAYS. I hope we hear so much reggae while we're in Jamaica that I never want to hear it again. It's music that makes me feel so good. It's so summery. It will be perfect for my wintery old withery 30-year-old self! Just perfect.
Nothing much is in store for the weekend. I'm pooped after last weekend (and broke). Jonathan and Jen are coming over for chili and football on Sunday. Tonight we will most likely watch "A Very Long Engagement." I've got to tell you, I am not psyched about the movie. It actually looks rather snore-ific. I've been putting off watching it, but alas...if I want a new movie I need to buckle down and watch. Those are household Netflix rules: nothing goes returned unwatched.
Well, color me gabby, but I do believe I have done an extraordinary amount of posting in days of late. Are you reading?
Who has been reading?
Anyone?
posted by Rosie @ 11/11/2005
1 comments
1 Comments:
hey Rosie -- what's shakin? forget the therapist -- just blame Kevin for everything and kick him in the balls when you're feeling blue. Lots of money saved and he's been asking for it. Speaking of that little leprachaun, there's a leprachaun look-a-like living next door to us. He looks just like Kevin, but the bulge between his legs doesn't compare, of course. And, this guys a bit of a jackass. Oh wait. They really are just alike! Mrs. T misses Lucy. And, speaking of Lucy, the leprachaun-look-a-like has a dog named Lucy. Anyway, you guys should visit -- come see the new Johnny Cash film with us at our little local Pocono indy theater. We'll drink a gallon of Old Grand Dad (my new bourbon lately -- 100 proof instead of the paltry 80 proof of Mr. Beam and family). Ah yes, we all have to grow up some time . . .
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