I was s’posed to go to Toronto tonight to hang with some of the WNET girls and our guest of honour, Stroppycow.
That, and I’d have been able to smooch on Chz, most certainly.
As often happens, my plans were flat-out busted via a conspiracy of details and, instead, I watched a monster movie and drank a screwdriver. I yelled at Oldest One for being a dick to his brother. I ate some pizza.
Now, pizza and a movie and a big glass of alcohol are never a bad way to spend an evening, of course. And yelling at Oldest One is.. well, okay, there’s not much enjoyable about that (unless you count the joy of letting your feelings out and not holding them in).
Jamma pants. Yes. There’s another benefit.
God, being a parent means sucking it up and accepting that some thing just will not be happening. *sigh*
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I LIVE in jamma pants unless I’m in public. Or at the liquor store, because they don’t seem to care there.
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So freekin’ true. My trying to sleep in got interrupted by ‘mom… I think I need to throw up’. I’m still in jamma pants though, and well, he didn’t throw up, so I guess all is well. Sorry you didn’t get to meet up with people – I wish I could have been there too!
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Welcome to my life, or lack thereof. It’s exactly why parents need to stick together… let the kids entertain each other while we drink! (In moderation of course.)
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Erm.. what is this “moderation” of which you speak? ;)
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You stop drinking when you can’t feel your nose. Or something like that.
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