I ate pizza last night and today my stomach is protesting. When did this happen....that I couldn't eat whatever the hell I wanted? I remember hearing the phrase 'iron stomach' when I was 18 and not being familiar with it. Someone explained it as being able to eat whatever you want...and I thought, "you mean some people can't eat whatever the hell they want?" Ahhh, youth.
I ate cold pizza for breakfast because, well fuck you stomach, there's cold pizza in the refrigerator. The boys don't have school today and Ernie and Owen wanted the car so they could run errands. I think Owen is trying to figure out how to get to band practice but he and Ernie can drive over there but Ernie can't drive home so I don't know how that's going to work. We'll see what they come up with. In the meantime I kinda want Ernie and Owen to drive me to work everyday. Owen scraped the car and started warming it up. I walked down the alley to get in and he was a bit affronted that we hadn't waited for him to pull it up by the door. He sighed and said, "I've got more scraping to do, so just get in and get yourself settled." Ernie can't buckle the seat belt with one arm so Owen leaned into the back seat to do it for him. Then Owen settled into the driver's seat, got his phone all set up, and as he pulled out of the alley Van Halen's Dance the Night Away poured out of the speakers. I just laughed and laughed, because really, what else can you do?