i took the percoset on saturday, and it about killed me. it reminded me of imitrex (migraine medicine), except instead of being paralyzed with pain, i had to remind myself to breathe. and i got awfully cranky. i fell asleep within the first few minutes of mulholland drive, but conveniently woke up during the exceedingly creepy parts (during which i plugged my ears, because the last time i watched a david lynch film while sleeping my subconscious nearly exploded with insanity) and the morbidly funny parts (at which point i announced to the room, "this is a funny part," rolled over, and fell back asleep).
i made the wildly popular chicken fried steak for adam and liz and company last night. it was as kitsch as it comes -- liz and i in the kitchen (excuse me, the kitschen), slaving away over a hot stove and giggling about boys, and the boys in the living room watching futurama. i wore my pajamas with the violin-playing bears, which i originally bought for sanam because they remind me of a story in john irving's "the world according to garp" (except it was a unicycle-riding bear who ended up dying from humiliation) but ended up giving them to aaron because he needed comfy pants. i have come to the decision that these pants are the comfiest thing ever.
there's a customer who comes into my bank, and i swear, "it's pat!" please please please, someone know what i'm talking about. they made a whole movie based on that skit, for chrissake, and no one in my branch gets it when i say that.
in other news, i loathe my job and long for the customer who will push me over the edge and get me fired. woo hoo!
in extra other news, i have a sneaking suspicion my mum had a wild night in vegas and that i am denis leary's love child.