Tomorrow is surgery.

But for now: Drunk dialing, Don't do it.

If you think you're sober enough to monitor someone else's conversation--Don't do it.

If you have had even a drink, put the phone own.

And tequila makes me angrier than I thought.


Awhile ago, I swore off Indy flicks. There was a catalyst: The Dreamers. The movie can be summed up as French incest soft porn set in the sixties. It was on T.V. last night and Aaron Shute and I watched it.

I never thought I would find another person on the planet who isn't a pretentious wannabe culturati (portmanteau...) who found it s disturbing as I did. So we watched it and I fell asleep on his arm.


Just about everyone in my life has a song designated to them that makes me thing exclusively of them. I found Scott's today. It was an accident. And if you're curious about which song belongs to you, just ask.


So I may be dead tomorrow, or I may just be in drug induced stupor. Either way, holla. I'll be bored.