Bryant and Kelli are coming in this weekend!
Last weekend when I and some of Son Tran's closest friends threw him a memorial birthday party at a bar in which a man playing a guitar honored our request of playing Lucky by Britney Spears for him.
The buckyball things which I bought as a gift for someone, and decided to play with myself. That shit is really cool, and also totally confusing.
Girl scout cookies are back. I have the seven empty boxes of Samoas to prove it.
SMASH, which although is mildly embarrassing to admit that I watch, is still kind of like the more affluent person's Glee.
If someone in a bar ever tells you to try an Irish Car Bomb, do not buy one for all of your friends and spend sixty dollars on them (like I did last weekend) because they are fucking terrible. Seriously, just fucking awful.
People who I need to interview for one article or another, refusing to get back to me in a timely fashion. Seriously, what is that about? If ever someone thought I was interesting enough to warrant a feature story---I'd fucking grant an interview, posthaste.
When you realize that on more than one occasion you attended a birthday party/sleepover with someone who has now been convicted of owning child pornography.
Waking up with hangovers for four Saturdays in a row.
That feeling I sometimes get that reminds me of things that I don't particularly feel like dealing with right now.