Uhhey Ohhey

Ihay aymay avehay ottengay ashedsmay ootnighttay orfay eethey irstfay imetay inhay ahay ihleway.

Ooyay owknay owhay Ihay etgay ehnway Ihay amhay unkdray.

Oopidstay ackJay anielsDay.

Scratch That Itch

I can't tell what the hell is going on anymore with these ridiculous bug bites I'm getting.

I keep getting these horrid, hive-like things all over myself, and if I hadn't had chicken pox when I was three, I'd be concerned I had it now.

Most of the time these itches flare up at the office, but the timing is weird enough that I can't quite narrow down what's happening and where, though I'm convinced it's bugs of one sort or another.

The itching is making me absolutely insane, and I cannot for the life of me figure out why I'm apparently getting bitten by every bug that could potentially bite humans.

All I know is that I'm increasingly covered in itchy red welts and/or scabs, and I really am reaching the end of my rope in terms of how on earth to continue coping with this without losing my mind.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go bathe in calamine lotion.

Maaaark, Why Do I Do This To Myself?

Redeye flights are a tool of the Devil sent straight from the deepest, darkest bowels of the seventh circle of Hell.

I make that statement every time I take one, but then the next time I'm booking eastbound flights, I look at how much time I lose with a daytime flight and think, "Fuck it, maybe it won't be so bad this time."

Hahahaha.

Yes, four hours of very light, fitful sleep, constantly interrupted by turbulence, screaming babies, and the woman in the seat next to me deciding to sing along with her music is clearly a brilliant idea.

Speaking of brilliant ideas, now I'm waiting for my checked baggage to show up. I hope it does, because otherwise I'm going to be going to this wedding in jeans and an Onion Softball shirt.