You'll all be glad to know that the phone-popcorn-blowup video I posted yesterday is a complete load of bull, and also an advertisement to use blue-tooth. Now that's some creative advertising. I don't feel so hot about being duped, though. I'm not sure why I'm prone to believe everything I see/hear/read on the internet is gospel. I should know better. Except for US Magazine, those stories come straight from the lips of St. Peter.
So I'm back to attaching my phone to the side of my ear and never letting it touch the ground. Obviously I know it's not good for me, but we're all gonna die of something right? I might as well fry my brain like a yummy chicken tender dipped in delicious ranch sauce. Crap, now I'm hungry.
And speaking of food, yesterday I had some delicious lobster ravioli at a wonderful little Bistro in Brookside for lunch. The sauce was rich and moist and bright orange, and probably one of the best ravioli's I've ever given my taste buds the opportunity to enjoy. My warm fuzzy's for the meal quickly ended though, as I drove down Metcalf an hour later and realized I was two seconds from puking all over my orange leather seats. At least it would have matched. Thankfully I was able to pull over and expel my meal on the side of the road drunken-teenager style. So hot.
I quickly called the voice of reason (a.k.a. Brad) crying and he reminded me how quickly and violently my stomach tends to react when given extremely rich food items. He suggested I head home, lay down and take some Pepto. And that's exactly what I did. By the time Brad got home last night I was feeling better, but he still took the night off from finishing the basement to watch a movie with me. Awwww.
Tonight, my friends, is concert night. My first one in a long time. Brad and I are making the trek across our street to behold every wannabe rock star's favorite toker band, 311, and every hooker who needs a break into porn's favorite singer, Snoop Dogg. Two very different types of music, one helluva good time. One of my besties and her hub-lub are supposed to be accompanying us on our journey to Sandstone. Unfortunately they're having a tough time acquiring a baby-sitter, so it may just be us and Brad's friend Ross. Either way, I'm planning on letting loose and having a few brews. As an added bonus, if I get sick tonight I'm only 200 yards from my front door. Real estate is all about location....