The 4th of July

Ah, the 4th of July. Traffic jams, burned skin, burned burgers, drunk goombas, and fireworks.

Last night, at the bar with my bro and his gf, I saw a goomba wearing a pink and white striped short-sleeved button down. He thought he was hot shit. I could tell by the way he smoked his cigarette. I felt like telling him, "Dude. You are wearing a short-sleeved button down with not one, not TWO, but THREE different shades of vertical pink and white stripes. This seriously negates any Cool Factor you might imagine yourself possessing."

But, I wasn't feeling particularly bitchy last night. I just wanted some wings.

I woke up today with a terrible feeling. Not sure why. I'm going to try and ignore it, but there was a lot of anxiety associated with it. Perhaps this might have something to do with the fact that I've been home since Thursday night and have yet to call my Dad or my grandmother. I'm gonna have to take care of that today.

I'm also taking vacation that's not exactly approved. That might be contributing to the anxiety, too.

Also, everytime I come home, I'm reminded of certain things I have no control over and it kind of drives me a little bit insane. Trying to ignore all that, too.

I'm going to make today, The Day Our Great Nation Stood Up And Said "FUCK YOU, WANKERS!" to the British, Danielle's Day Of Ignorance And Denial.

I mean, after all, if there hadn't been a healthy dose of ignorance and denial back in 1776, before we took on the nearly impossible task of cutting the trans-atlantic umbilical cord, what would we do with all the surplus burgers?

Quote of the Day: "You couldn't have written a better script."
Said by my mother in reference to the John Candy classic, "Cool Runnings."