Long time, no post. I need to write a lil' somethun' somethun' about the epic trip to Memphis with my mom. And my summer reading. I'll do that soon. I really will.
I'm about to eat lunch and I feel like my stomach is still recovering from the damage I did to it on Sunday, when I saw the White Sox get massacred by the Tigers. Sigh. What the Tigers did to the Sox in the last few innings is akin to what I did to my digestive system -- involving a veggie dog that looked remarkably like the 50-year-old hot dog Kramer ate to prove Lloyd Braun wasn't crazy; a churro that was vanilla although I wanted chocolate because during the several minutes he made me and the guy behind me with kids wait while he meticulously stacked new churros under the heat lamp one by one, the vendor didn't bother to mention that he was out of what I'd ordered; an entire pint of Lemon Chill; and greasy Chinese food for dinner. My friend Emily and I managed to get covered in alcoholic beverages, too, even though we weren't drinking any, thanks to getting sprayed by the guys behind us, a margarita vendor with a runny nozzle, and someone seemingly sending their epileptic friend on a beer run (seriously, the woman's hands were shaking like crazy and each one had a beer in it, including the one with which she was trying to clutch the handrail). Good times.
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