Yeah, so. Shut up. We saw Rent AGAIN on Friday night. Again-again. Those tickets have been on my (non-working, asshole) refrigerator since CHRISTMAS, and I was excited. I got dressed up, complete with cleavage and a sparkly headband that I later decided looked more like a tiara. This was not a decision I was proud of. There was regret about the headband, is what I am saying. And as anyone who has experienced headband-related regret knows, you cannot just undo a headband once you've committed to a headband, because of the hair dent.
Dent rhymes with Rent! You know, sometimes I start writing stuff without any idea of where the topic is going to take me, without any real grasp on the entry's structure or conclusion, and sometimes it just works out anyway. Other times...no.
We took the boys to see Up on Saturday. I was a little worried about it, honestly, since I'd read some reviews that mentioned scary packs of dogs and we're STILL kind of dealing with the fallout from 101 Dalmations, which shattered Noah's innocence with the necessary truth that sometimes dogs bite, and that sometimes they bite your butt. Thank you, Disney, for that.
But Noah was super-excited to see the "Going Up" movie about the balloons and the house and the house going up with the balloons and we're Going Up! Balloons! Yaaaaay! We went to a super-early toddler-friendly showing, Ezra fell asleep 10 minutes in, Noah thought the scary packs of dogs were HILARIOUS, and the whole outing was a complete success, other than the little tiny part where Noah screamed bloody murder everytime the house was shown floating in the air. Which not to spoil the plot for you or anything, HAPPENED A LOT. IT WAS KIND OF THE WHOLE POINT.
The theater was mostly empty, but I still whisked him outside every time he started shrieking and tried to explain that it was okay, it was just pretend and goddamn WHIMSICAL and offered to take him home instead. Which then caused MORE crying, because he wanted to watch the movie. He just wanted the house to "not be going up anymore." And after, oh, the seventeenth or maybe the fourteenhundredth explanation of How Movies Work and Mommy's Limited Pull At Pixar, I finally told him he could eat all the chocolate-covered raisins he wanted for the rest of the movie if he would just stop crying about the stupid house, because so help me God, Mommy really wants to watch this movie so please don't call my bluff and make me take you home like a responsible parent. You sit down and be quiet and enjoy getting scarred for life! Have some candy!
Guess who hasn't stopped talking about Up ever since? Guess who thinks it's HILARIOUS to stop mid-sentence, turn to the left and shout "SQUIRREL!" over and over and over? Guess who wants to see it again?
(BESIDES ME, I mean. Obviously. Duh.)
Jesus, this entry is boring. I've checked my email 17 times in the past 15 minutes in hopes that someone sent me something more interesting to read. I have received -- no lie -- exactly 10 press release pitches since I sat down to type. Chick-fil-A has a new milkshake flavor, in case that's relevant to you and/or your life and/or your highly-savvy blog audience. Here's one with the subject line "Summer Drinks the Celebs are Sipping."
Oh god, not a bucket of beer! That's just so...so...regular. Stupid recession, keeping us drinking the bathtub gin and moonshine while the celebrities sip glamorous cocktails and laugh at us, pelting us with martini olives from the rooftop bars! The email actually contains recipes for celebrity-inspired cocktails, which is not really what the subject line promised. I feel kind of lied to. There's a. jpg attached with photos of each celebrity and their hypothetical drink, and Paris Hilton is one of them. She is wearing a headband.
And. Here. Have a picture of a pretty baby. I've completely lost interest in this entry.
(runs away to drag bucket of beer out to the kiddie pool)
(what? THE CHILDREN SAID THEY'RE THIRSTY.)