What the hell is wrong when 2 28- yr- olds get a WEEKEND without the kids, and opt to sit on their asses like they do every other night? Seriously, inject us with something. Please.
I know we must be expected to at least hit the local Chili's and mingle with our buds, but ever since Lea left, it's not as much fun.
A movie? A Bar? 4th Street? Sonic?" Anything? Huh. Allow me to delight you with the most interesting moment of the night:
ME: "Tikki Barber is good."
HIM: "Yeah." (removes sausage balls from oven)
ME: "Do those taste done to you?"
ME: "Do those look done to you?"
HIM: "Yeah...do they look done to you?"
*pause, while I entertain the horrors of being stricken with trichinosis*
ME: "I dunno, you're the one who plays with pork all day." Bahduhmbum.
Sad, right? Worse? We then proceeded to have a lengthy discussion regarding who is older, Dick Vermeil or Bill Parcells.
Bring on the Depends.
COLOR ME: Rachel -- "They're my new, 'I don't need a job, I don't need my parents, I've got great boots' boots."
AKA: Link Happy