icky yucky work week...Some days I really, really wonder if there is some sort of secret society of assholes that determine a set night to go out to dinner. Everything is special ordered and they are all so hungry they are about to die (the only excuse for complete loss of manners) and quite frankly sometimes I wish a few special ones might just keel over already and put me out of my misery. I am definitely ready to own my own bar...oh yeah did the girl that fell out of her chair, or the little girl who apparently ate too much pizza and milk and puked all over her chair?! Fuck yeah, what a night. I am not at all prepared to be out in public, especially 84 with all the pushy shovey jackasses. Hence home and headed to bed and a movie 
noelani:
Yeah 84 would have been the breaking point for me if my day was like that.