Yesterday was my grandfather�s 80th birthday (might put up some pics later) and we went to a seafood restaurant (a food that has never been on speaking terms with my taste buds) so of course I had to scramble around on the menu to find something that was palatable. I settled for the melted cheese + pesto bread and the beef homemade lasagna. Ah lasagna, you and I have had a tempestuous relationship for many years. You have been cheesy, saucy, meaty, pasta-ery. Never before have you given me the chance to pack up my bags and move to the Land of Flatulence. All yesterday I was playing the backyard bugle. Gross huh. Wait for it, it gets worse.

This afternoon I discovered that just beyond the road to the Land of Flatulence is the Valley of the Runs. Charming, I know. It�s okay if you�ve got the days off work and you�re quite happy running to and from the bowl at home, but at work it�s a different story. You do the seat cushion cha cha trying not to let the residences of Land of Flatulence move out of home. Of course there is also the dead silence of the bathroom that encourages the villagers from the Valley of the Runs to have a vocal protest at peak hour.

Now I�ve made it into a story book version in my head and I�m imagining little people like in all the lands at the top of the Faraway Tree

Yes I�m sick, yes I need professional help, yes you�re really reading this

Tyd

I suggest you check the last entry as well. I only added it this morning but back dated it. It�s not anything flash though.

2 April 2002 - 3:47 pm

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