John Hughes died. That sucks. You know how I know? Because I get my news from FB. And my iGoogle home page.
I think I'm going to make t-shirts up: I Run To Purge My Shame.
Last night I went out to celebrate Dre's belated birthday. I got there late because, well, that's what I do, but also in hopes that I would be able to just run in, have a quick drink, maybe share a few laughs, then go home and pack for Portland. Instead, I basically managed to spend the night having conversations I would like to schedule an Eternal Sunshine procedure on. Note to self: Do not give or take relationship advice while drinking tequila.
And this morning? I got up and ran. You know why. I still need to pack.