The SF Chronicle's Bay Area news feed now has ads on it. And it's called Stanfordboy22 because that's what some idiot named it. I'm insulted.
The steering wheel in the car smells like garlic butter. I do not know how or why. I try not to think about it very hard.
Nordstrom, that bastard, still hasn't paid me. Because they are on a wonky twenty day schedule.
I am either nauseous or ravenous by turns.
The cover of "Dream Weaver" by Erin Hamilton that I finally obtained is a remix and sucks.
Things that are wonderful: I BOUGHT BOOKS FOR THE FIRST TIME IN AGES. LOVELY HAPPY DAY.