Cows

As per our usual habits, St. Stephen and I met in the kitchen last night for a drunken dessert. We always seem to find each other nibbling on rolls and pizzas and other delights after an evening in the pubs. This time we noticed a rank smell escaping from the fridge. We sniffed out the acrid smell like a drug dog, until we counted 11 cartons of milk. There are 7 of us who use that kitchen. We laughed, then closed the door. 2 of those cartons of milk are mine. I accidently bought an extra one at the store the other day. They both expire today. I’ve been eating cereal this past week for breakfast lunch and dinner.

I lost my USB stick. Sucks.

Ohh, and Happy Thanksgiving. Mine was spent in my office hours with miscelaneous students. Then I caught the last half of the Cowboys game (I hate the Cowboys, but this is Thanksgiving) at a bar in town, which was odd not hearing John Madden telling me how much he liked to eat turkey legs, as if I couldn’t tell.

Today the University of Texas will destroy their “rivals” in the traditional blow-out that follows fatness.