Also, to make it you need beef stock and Red Wine. And once that bottle of wine is open, what're you going to do? Don't want to waste it. Bottle of Dry Chianti. What if I just take swigs from it all evening first so that it doesn't go to waste and second because I have no clue what I am are going to write tonight? Jesus, that sounds like a good idea. Speaking of which, excuse me . . . ahhh.
I had to go into the kitchen to take a drink. I leave the bottle corked on the kitchen counter so that way I'm not just sitting here swigging from a bottle of wine. I actually have to get up, go in the kitchen, think "what was I going to do again? Oh yeah." And then I take a big swig from a bottle of wine.
Do to many, many, many requests (one) from my many, many, many fans (?) I will post pics of my beautiful babies. Feast your eyes:
That's the Peanut.
That is the Pumkpin Man.
That is the little boy who stocked my daughter throughout the entire Halloween party we attended. Because he "loves lions" his mother claimed. Whatever. I kept an eye on him.
Sorry, that is the best I can do. I promised my family anonymity.
In other news, the Peanut (my 2 and 2/3 yeqar old girl) was kind of a bitch tonight where mommy was concerned. She was napping when Mommy came home and after she woke up she would have very little to do with her for a lot of the night. I'm not sure what to do about that. It hurts my wife. And at dinner she was really difficult about trying the beef stew. MY beef stew that I slaved over with my own two hands and which came out tasting really good, I assume. I don't know for sure. But still, the meat was obviously tender and it was her chance to get some O' dat Red wine into her, even if the alcohol had been boiled off Which reminds me, please hold . . . Ok. Tthe red wine is now gone. We are all out of the chianti. Thank you for understanding.
Ok, I should post this now so I can sneak it in before midnight. Kind of a crappy post but eh, coherency is for pussies.
UPDATE: Apparently, the wine was in full effect when I typed this. Either that or the boy in the picture with my daughter was more dangerous than I first realized. It seems he wasn't just obsessed with her, he actually wanted to make her into soup (gasp!). It's spelled stalked, not stocked, and I am, as always, a total nimrod.