"The Picnic: Adventures with Drugs, Sex, Food, and Facebook."

No, it's not what you think. Get your mind out of the gutter. Yes, even you. Keep it in your pants, love. I'm planning a picnic with my friends before we all head of to college *sobs* and we're planning it mainly on a Facebook thread. The thread has gone in many directions. I've reread it to make a final list of what we'll have and what we'll still need, and burst out laughing for many minutes on end. 

But can you imagine a Broadway musical with a title like "The Picnic: Adventures with Drugs, Sex, Food, and Facebook."? It would be great. It would basically be random imaginings of me and my friend...let's use Ginny as her code name. Because she's a redhead and used to be obsessed with Harry Potter. But Ginny and I would be sitting there, narrating this whole thing. It would be like multiple flashbacks, but not really because it would be hypothetical scenarios. Like sneaking out on a ninja mission to kidnap a friend of ours (let's call her Elf. Because  she's obsessed with World of Warcraft and things like that.) with a large pillowcase and laughing gas. 

We're not on drugs, I promise. 

There would be many musical numbers, of course, because we're all band geeks and theater freaks. The lone male (we think) would have a series of dance solos. Because he's a dancer. Let's call him......Prancer. Like the reindeer. 'Cause he spikes his hair so it sticks up. Like antlers. Don't make me explain myself, we'll all get confused. He's actually a fantastic dancer. And not gay. I know, he's almost a mythical creature. A theater guy who's a great dancer who isn't gay. But he would deal with all of the choreography. 

Oh, it's raining. 

I guess the picnic will be inside. I guess I have to haul my butt to Ginny's house early to move furniture. That should be interesting. We'll have to distract her grandmother with a daytime soap or something so she doesn't get squished. 

Well, I have to go hide from a thunderstorm now. I really don't like those. So I'm gonna wrap myself in the quilt my grandma made me and peer worryingly out the window. 

Heart, me.