Yesterday I went to go see Chicago with Brigette. It was the most brilliant movie I've seen in a long time. And Dude, it had Richard Gere tap dancing in a red sequined pinstripe suit. Queen Latifah was great too. I thought it was very commendable that they put a plus sized actress into a sexy, shimmery gold dress. She looked fab. I read somewhere that Rosie O'Donnell was going to be cast in the role of Mama Norton, but Rosie in spangles? No. Besides, she's too New Yawk for Chicago. Also, I thought Renee Zelwegger looked much better in Bridget Jones' Diary. Less bony, without pointy big shoulders.

Then we went to Ikea, where we circled the store about six times trying to find things. I ended up buying a bed (which, as I type, is in several Swedish pieces on the bedroom floor, waiting for Josh to come home and put it together). I also bought pillows, some dangly lights shaped like stars, and the world's most clashtastic blanket ever. It's crazy magenta, blue, red, orange, and purple, and appears to want to be plaid, but really isn't. I didn't buy it for esthetic purposes though. It's just so damned soft. (And as I carried it around the store, it shed magenta fur on me, but that's okay.)

I had so much fun. Hanging out with Brigette reminds me of the finer things in life, like laughter, and poking fun of the losers who keep going back to the high school drama department to put on plays long after they've graduated (*coughcough* Darcy, back for a fifth year of loserism *cough*). We have too much dignity for that, even though if we wrote something, it would kick the ass of Darcy's usual bland-pablum scripts. Sometimes dignity really rocks.