Can you believe it? It’s terrible. Awful. Seventeen days of vacay over, just like that. Bam. It’s a tragedy, surely. Why Lala hasn’t won the lottery yet is beyond me. It’s like she doesn’t even try. Y’all need to tell her to do better at picking those numbers, okay? A woman has needs, that’s all I’m saying. And those needs do NOT correspond to working midnight shift. They correspond to long lazy days with nothing to do but spin yarn and knit sweaters and eat chocolate and drink beer and go to movies and travel to exotic locations. And other things we won’t mention. Working all night, surely not.
So, yeah. She needs to get on it (winning the lottery, I mean! Quit it). But I will have you know that when I was sick last week, she brought me sushi and beer. That counts for a lot, people. Also, women give her their phone numbers on BART. And that’s hot. I’ve received unsolicited phone numbers before, but they were from men, and I’m sure none of them were from men I really ended up liking or I would remember that. Or maybe I wouldn’t, given my atrocious memory. So those last two sentences were a waste of your time. Sorry about that.
Also you should know that I’ve finally found a combination of things that my iron stomach does not like. Usually I have no trouble, none at all. But Taco Bell followed by three Cadbury Creme Eggs followed by an Indian dinner of sag paneer and bhindi masala and garlic naan — this makes for a very sorry Rachael. All better now, but I do not like tummy woes. I remember that. Next time I’ll only eat two Cadbury Creme Eggs.
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