Story Time.
My friend Isabel, who has recently returned from her gallivant to Italy, hung out with me even though she was basically sober-hungover from jet-lag, and for that I love her.
On our way home from a minor league baseball game, we were talking about people getting roofied. Yes, I was in the car with my mother, uncle, brother and Isabel and we were talking about people getting roofied.
Which led to the discussion of being a future rapist.
Which I thought would be a brilliant name for a Scandinavian death metal band. Seriously, consider it.
After coming home from the baseball game, at which I got an ice cream that could have honestly fed a third world country and there would have been enough to give everyone leftovers to take home for breakfast the next day, my family had to stop in at a surprise birthday for a family friend. It was all older people, and me and Isabel sat there awkwardly awkwarding all over the place and eating cookies for about forty minutes. We then called it quits, tapped out and walked back to my house.
We then made fun of names in this baby name book I have.
What kind of name is Nimrod? Or Ingelbert? Or Olga? How evil would you have to be to name your child that? Cruel and unusual punishment, is what that is, friends. Cruel and unusual.
I have to go see my senile grandma today, so wish me luck! She may or may not know my name!
Parting joke:
How many actors does it take to change a light bulb?
None, they can never find their light!
Love and kisses,
L.
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