I am subsisting on one damn piece of ricotta cheese pie (YES leftovers from the party WHEN will they all be digested, NO ONE knows). The ricotta cheese pie that earlier graced me with the 272.
So, pump appears to be working. Feeeebly working. But no lunch for me. Nope! Refuse! I should probably stop being squirrely and just break out the syringe but ah...nope, refuse again. My boss thinks I took a lunch break; in reality I took a blog break, and a cup-o-water break. And my stomach is grumbling.
Hey, did I remember to mention The Smashing Pumpkins? Like, I totally saw them at the 9:30 club on 7/10/07 and they like totally rocked. I shook Billy Corgan's hand, and as I was shaking it I realized I had offered him my BAND-AID HAND. The day before, I had given myself a lovely paper cut with the side of a plastic binder (mmmmm..so really, a plasti-cut). It gapped open deep enough that I swore I could see the Mines of Moria, so I band-aided the sucker. Unfortunately, the humidity in the city (whoa rhyme) caused the band-aid to get a little flaky before the band arrived. So, Billy Corgan shook my grody peeling-offy band-aid hand. Sorry, Crog, it's only a paper cut I swear.
This was seconds after I contaminated him:
Yes, I am somewhere in that photo...and no, I am not the bald guy. If I was the bald guy, I would say eff this crap and just buy a new pancreas for myself on a periodic basis.
And I would also cry a lot and beg James Iha to come baaaack, pleeease come baaaack to meeee....because damn it musta been fun to look at that guy all day long.
By la way, someone requested wedding pics. Here's a link to a few. Don't make fun of my armpit fat, I slouch and I know it.