Excuse me. Yes, what the hell are you talking about?

Filetto-o-pesce e The Madre siamo nella classe. Siamo annoiati. Invia aiuto, per favore.

Please don't lynch Tiger Woods in a back alley.

Drunk Rastafarians Eating Armadillo Meat: A lesson on tact.

Walking down a darkened street. At night. In Mexico City. Avoiding robbery:
G: I have SO much money!

Post soccer game:
5_: I do know one thing in Spanish! Aloha!

Dinner:
A1: Quiero... quisiera guac and chi-chi?

Bullfight. Three rows behind a Jewish woman:
5_: She's Jewish.
A1: WHO'S JEWISH?!

Airplane:
A1: I'm feeling hot and bothered.
5_: Is it Jonathan?
A1: No, it's whoever's in front of me that I can't see.
G: ... that's five year old girl.

Stuffing cracker packets down the front of his shirt. Restaurant:
A1: Lime and Brandy? That's SO classless.

Witty banter from the cockpit:
Captain: Be sure to turn off your BlackBerrys, blueberries, raspberries, and unplug your George Foreman grills.

After not eating anything all day:
Flight attendant: We're happy to offer you three choices for your on-flight snack tonight: peanuts, cookies, or cheese crackers.
5_: YES! Let's each get one and share 'em!
Flight attendant: Actually. Just peanuts, bitches.
(Okay, she didn't really say that, but G really wanted her to.)

Looking out the plane window:
Woman with fugged-out mensies-colored hair: This is like, ya know, when you're flipping through the channels and you're like, "Wait, whoa - what was that?"
A1: No. No, it's not like that at all.

Final thoughts:
A1: I really hope that man got to have his booty call.
G: Ya know, some people wish for a safe flight, or that people get to be home with their families, but no.

Truthiness and a newly discovered love of Philip Larkin.

I've grown unabashedly accustomed to falling asleep in Nick and Andrew's room. I offer the last two nights as proof. Sometimes I intentionally want to have a sleepover and other times, like last night, I just lay down and stray in and out of consciousness until I eventually nestle into the third or fourth stage of my sleep cycle. It's not that I don't like my own bed - not by any means - but after midnight, and with a lack of sleep from the night before, their futons become unbelieveably seductive. With all the appeal of a well-mannered whore, Andrew's futon is the most comfortable and sleep compatible. Nick's futon, though slightly gimpy, has its own appeal too. Well that, or I'm just not a sleep diva like some gingers and pianoplayingcarobsessedbusinessschoolingphotographers I know. Just kidding, but seriously.

Who has plans for Valentine's Day? I do!

Also, Apple = Andrew porn.

"Let me put some pants on."

Asian 1: You're going on an IV leadership retreat?
Pretentious Camel: Yeah.
Asian 1: Why?
Pretentious Camel: They wanna make sure none of us have died.
Asian 1: You can't say that - people actually get cancer.
Pretentious Camel: No one in IV has cancer.
Asian 1: You don't know that.
Pretentious Camel: Fine. No one in IV publically has cancer.
Asian 1: Well, what if I got cancer? Would you be sad?
Pretentious Camel: [Thinks - Actually, I'm writing this with the help of P.C. and he says that I should have put Ruminates] Yeah, I would be.
Asian 1: [Touched] Really?
Pretentious Camel: Well. Yes. Actually, I would probably laugh first, but I would cry on the inside.
Asian 1: Not uh. You would laugh. I bet if I really got cancer, I'd tell you and you'd just laugh.
Pretentious Camel: That's only because I would think you were joking.
Asian 1: [Throws banana] Now I'm mad at you. You would laugh. Gah.

1 pot of pop-it-yourself-Orville Redenbacher-popping corn + 1 rat named Ratatouille + 1 ginger + 1 trash can kicking ballerina = the rest of my evening. Peace out, fools.