Last night, Peter and I went to see “The Producers” at Block E. That is a funny show. I actually had no idea what it was about before going, but I was quite pleased. And, of course, Uma Thurman is so sickeningly hot. Matthew Broderick is still cute, too. (I just remembered a line he had during the debut of “Springtime for Hitler” and I quietly giggled, but loud enough for coworker Mary to hear me on the other side of my cubicle wall. We’re used to giggling and talking to ourselves, though, so this is not out of the ordinary.)
After the film we went to the Northeast Yacht Club! It was a stroke of brilliance on my part. It’s so close, but no one ever thinks about actually going there. No one I know, anyway. So I made Peter go with me. And then I thought about the bar’s cribbage tournaments and playing cribbage with Lynn and posse back in June and how lovely it all was even though I had a vicious hangover that day. Northeast is the cure for what ails you.
And I didn’t take any photos because I’m a loser. I was all “blah, blah, blah!” last night and there simply wasn’t time between my babblings to photograph the place and the clientele.
I slept in my own bed last night. I had fed the cats around 6pm so I wouldn’t have to return for the night and I could stay up late. Plus, after the scratching noises from the previous night, I wanted to actually get sleep. Which I did. I love my bed. I woke up super early this morning, though, to feed the cats before work. Which means I am sleepy now. Coworker Mary and I just returned from McDonald’s with breakfast treats to ring in 2006, though. McDonald’s happens maybe three times per year, and this morning it was delicious. Oh, and we got orange juices so it’s not all bad.