The weekend continues

My sister and her kids are gone, having left behind a carton of chocolate chip ice cream that I've now introduced myself to three times ("Hello there, ice cream. You and I have not rendezvoused for quite some time now, and I find that absence has truly made my heart grow much fonder.") and a very large plastic tub of strawberries that I will dig into shortly, once my stomach figures out what to do with the massive dose of sugar and cream I've just fed it.

My parents are on their way here — or will be, as soon as they pack up all their earthly belongings for the two-hour trip — and my dad has told me to pick a restaurant and he'll take me there. Now that I've let ice cream back into my life, I'm thinking we may have a nice quiet dinner at Baskin Robbins.

I'm not really sure where they're going to sleep. My apartment is approximately five feet wide, and my dad has a snoring radius of more than a hundred miles. So, clearly I've got to Macgyver something that will allow me to sleep tonight, because my ass has got to be up and somewhere by 7. And by "somewhere," I mean "this place that is going to put me in a paper gown and stick needles in me and cut on me while I trip on painkillers and anesthetics." Which should be fun, as I've never had such an adventure.

So, whee!