This morning I woke up and made myself the trifecta: eggs, bacon and chocolate pancakes (cereal too, but that's a given). And then I covered it with the sauce trifecta: ketchup, maple syrup and pommes frittes sauce. And I ate it and then wikipedia-ed "placenta." Apparently, this shows symptoms similar to the Animal Collective Effect, maybe even more exaggerated.
My ambitions for this Saturday:
- Take the bus down downtown
- Buy my first street hot dog
- Stay classy, San Diego
I guess I'd find out who here is really a friend, wouldn't I?
Last night I went to Shabbat services with Joel, Joel's girlfriend Gil (very nonreligious, from Israel) and Lucy (not even a Jew, from San Fran). First mistake both Joel and I made was blowing our load on the appetizers. I'm going back in my head to try to remember if I used the phrase "blowing [my] load" in this blog yet and the freudian implications a potential reader might make.
Anti-climactic moment of the night: When I waited past the seven songs that were queued on the jukebox before my choice finally came up. Emily even waited up for me while everyone else was impatient. And then finally, the jukebox inaudibly dripped out the normally-bombastic-but-now-unenthusiastic first fifteen seconds of Bowie's "China Girl." I was so embarrassed for both myself and the jukebox I had to leave.