You know what would really piss a certain girl off or put her in what a certain distinguished gentleman somewhat elegantly calls a temper?
It's when she's about to light her last cigarette for the night only to discover that her lighter suddenly and inexplicably won't work despite having used it with no problem whatsoever only an hour or two earlier while waxing rhetoric on feet, wood, and linguists with her depraved and depressed buddies, and that there's nary a match in the whole frigging house and she'll be damned if she has to traipse to the nearest 7-Eleven to buy a lighter or a box of matches because it's past frigging 4:30AM and it's raining (though she normally loves the rain) and she can't even resort to rubbing sticks to ignite kindling because she frigging dropped out of the frigging Girl Scouts of the Philippines when she was a frigging kid.
I know, I know. You guys are saying this is a blessing in disguise because smoking's bad for me. Yeah, yeah, I KNOW. Now shut up. It doesn't help any.
[End of rant. Taking deep breaths. I am a hollow reed, etc.]
On a positive note, I'm so happy my friend Victor's operation for his broken leg was successful and that he's back home recovering. But they must have fed him some really funny gas in the hospital because he's even more of a smartass than he ever was.
Now, off to bed I stumble.