I guess I never wrote about what I did on the long weekend (Hippo Birdie, MLK!). Mr. W and I looked at a couple of houses Saturday morning and the one I thought I’d fall in love with — a newer million-dollar home with great photos — I hated. Another that I didn’t think I’d like — an older home whose photos did not do it justice — I loved! Timing isn’t right, tho…we’re still just browsing for now. Unless some crazy deal turns up that we just can’t say no to. The market is still going south and I’d ideally like to purchase all my properties at rock-bottom prices.

After looking at homes, Mr. W and I picked up his daughter, and the three of us drove to Vegas to see his parents. I had a great time! Thanks to Daughter, I finally saw P.S. I Love You. I cried through the entire thing and blamed it on PMS. It was Daughter’s third time watching it and she still cried. Mr. W, the cold-hearted brute, remained unmoved throughout the film.

Driving back on Monday, the three of us stopped by my parents’ house and played with their professional karaoke. Daughter was probably the only person who’d ever sung at my parents’ house who truly knew how to sing. Her clear voice reverberated throughout my parents’ new hardwood floors and non-acoustic ceilings. Her Whitney Houston songs were likely more pleasant for my mom than when she and I duetted Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me.” Mr. W did not look pleased when his young teenage daughter and his future wife sang and rapped about banging next-door neighbors butt-naked on the bathroom floor and counters and getting caught on camera. I told Daughter, “I’m glad MY parent doesn’t know slang!”

I like hanging out with Daughter. She’s a load of giggles.