Jul. 17th, 2011

seriousmoonlight: (oh me; oh my)
My dad loves to go to Frency's (second hand clothing store for the non Maratimers out there). I cant cope with the store(s) because I don't like to dig through piles of clothes. Anyway, my dad loves going there and he's always bringing me home Boston Red Sox themed shirts. I now own two jerseys, two T-shirts, and a hooded sweatshirt.

And I don't like the Red Sox. Actually I'm indifferent to them as I am to all baseball teams (Your broke my heart Montreal! I will never love again! Actually ... I didn't care that much then, I only rooted for The Expos because my dad did.) it is just not my kinda sport. I've tried to tell my dad that buying me these things will not make me a Boston fan. Or a baseball fan. Oh dad.
seriousmoonlight: (languish)
Cold has moved from my lungs back into my sinus. Not as bad as it was this time last week, but my voice sounds all weird, and kind of like Krang's. I feel I should be barking out orders at my clueless minions, and cursing those meddling turtles.

Also I'm laughing so hard that the local radio station was posting all day about their "zombie plan".

The finalized plan was:

A Recap of our Zombie plan.Base is the Costco in Dartmouth Crossing,on route grab; Booze, Banjos, Weapons, Go Carts and Cricket bats. Then when we need to make our escape (Costco further North) we take 18wheelers, RV's, Metro Buses and the Harbor Hopper with our set list (bellow) and never look back. Phase 5 is simple. We all make a copy of this plan, hide it, and never speak of it again. Deal?


seriousmoonlight: (Default)

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