I lit my lunch on fire. It’s really sad, too, because we don’t have a lot of food right now, and I was really looking forward to my sandwich. At least the fire alarm didn’t go off (probably because I held a bowl over the detector whilst Ryan opened up the kitchen for some air flow). Damn you, toaster oven. That’s right, you did see me with the deep fryer the other day, and you know what? I’m not even ashamed! I love her, and I’m not afraid to say it. She makes me happy, and doesn’t cause fires, which is more than I could ever say about you!

In other news, I puked on Saturday night for the first time in over a year and 3 months. I guess that’s what happens when you have about a hundred fluid ounces of malt liquor in an evening. I’ll have to try again to validate that theory later. It’s a real shame that I’m in my third year of college and it’s only the third time that I’ve puked, but it’s an even bigger shame that in order to maintain a rather desirable once-per-year average, I’m going to have to make it through my twenty-first birthday without puking. That’s going to be a real challenge, because I hear that it’s basically everyone’s objective to make you puke on your twenty-first birthday. Oh well, I guess I’ll deal with that when I get there.

In the meantime, I think I’ll go light some dinner on fire.