Blond on Blond

I'm not sure if you can tell what's going on in this picture; it's buff guys with chainsaws carving up a huge, fallen tree. This is an allegory for what my stomach did today as I attempted to salvage the last scrap of my last Saturday of freedom, instead of vomiting (i.e.: being ripped apart from inside by my stomach with a chainsaw). Fie, I say.

While I was laying in bed I heard the most god-awful sound and recognized it immediately as a dog being hit by a car. Buster has been hit three times, so it's familiar. My neighbor hit her tiny dog and broke the dog's pelvis. While I wait for her to return the towel she borrowed from me, I hope they consider building a fence so that their other stupid dog doesn't get hit. God, that poor dog. I suppose I shouldn't complain about my stomach, at least my pelvis is intact (as far as I can tell).

Here's the real news for the day: (and I have no photographic proof, but Stevie does) last night we went to the Noble Savage and had a beer ten feet away from Jimmy Fallon (yes, THAT Jimmy Fallon), who told Sarah that she was cute and awesome and took a shot with Ryan Walsh, who has the power of ten men in his pinky finger. I resisted harrassing him, as my good deed for the day. He's enormous and his head is huge. WAY bigger than it looks on TV, so I don't believe that whole "the camera adds ten pounds" thing.

Tim comes home from Choir-Kidnapping tomorrow and then, TA-DA!! class starts. I hope this semester proves to be less terrifying than it looks. I have less books but more work, I'm sure. After this semester my grammar will be able to beat your grammar into a pulp. I shall challenge you to a battle of grammar and rhetorical skill!! Huzzah!