Packing Like A Chicken

Chicken minus head. That's me.

I'm running around squalking and cleaning and gathering things to pack. We leave tomorrow, 6am.

I went to the mall to "pick up a few things"... I came home with 6 bags of stuff. But I NEEDED it! We're going out to bars with young people, and I need to dress up, actually dress up, not "Hey, this old tee shirt of Rob's that I'm wearing has no holes, so I'm good." kind of dressed up. Actual nice clothing.

Today I called Jen, but she wasn't home, so I talked to her husband, Micha, who I am deeming as the nicest human being on the planet. I asked: Would be ok if Matty lived with them should both of us die (of course we'd be fine), but just in case? And he said, "Um, creepy." and I said, "Well, just in case." And he said yes, he would take care of Matty if we died. So there. My baby is taken care of. He will be staying with Aunt Beverly and Uncle Phil while we're gone; we have to drive him up to their house (In Massachusets!) tonight. That's ok, though, because Grandma (Rob's) is staying with Aunt Beverly and Uncle Phil, and it's her birthday today, so we'll get to have dinner with her right before we leave. Which would be nice, anyway, but especially since it's her birthday. Must get her card. It's Rob's birthday today, too. He's now a quarter of a century old.

Last night I turned to him and said, "When you're old, I'll have to have sex with an old man! That's so gross!" and he pointed out that he'd have to have sex with an old woman, and I said that wasn't as gross.

Um. Anyway.

I think I'm rambling. I should run; I have shit to pack and only a few hours to do it.

Blogsville, I'll see you in San Fran! And happy birthday, baby!