I keep laughing out loud every time I think of this stupid thing from "Family Guy": Peter is ordering chicken fajitas at a drive-through, and he keeps pronouncing it "chicken fah-JEYE-tas" so it sounds like chicken vaginas.

Blah, not much going on. It's almost 8:00 and I still haven't had dinner, and I am hungry. What should I have? Perhaps a salad? Or an english muffin pizza? Perchance I shall cram those nooks and crannies with sauce and cheese and go to town. Or, I could give in to the french fry beast and go get some pure junk food. Honestly that might be what happens.

What a boring blog! Someone ought to smite me about the head and shoulders for this.

The other night Trish and I were out for dinner and afterwards we went shopping. I know that we were hysterical because of excessive use of alliteration throughout our conversations that evening. And both times we used it, it involved the letter "f". I was trying to explain why I thought so many chicks are into Sarah Jessica Parker and the other Sex in the City ladies, and I said something like "Women today are looking to follow a feminized female role model" and Trish started laughing like I had just told the world's greatest fart joke or something. She loves alliteration!

Later on we were looking at jewelry, and I burped unexpectedly. Not loudly, just what I thought was a quiet, discreet lady-burp. But unfortunately it smelled like my dinner and the smell drifted right up at her. She was all, "oh, man, and my mouth was open too! Whew, Lisa!" Hey, it's not like I intented to burp right then and there, and that she would be close enough to smell it through her mouth. Crucify me, why don't ya? It's the weekend for it. (And thanks for not blogging about it, Trish. Yet, see what I did? I got desperate for material and shared it with the world anyway. C'est la vie.)

In other news, I am naked under my clothes. I am so happy some people wear clothes to cover themselves. I saw a guy who was freakishly skinny today and I was so happy to not see his bones. Or the mexican't lady in the mall that seemed to have no real torso--her boobs went straight to her hips--there was no middle ground there and it was kind of freakishly mesmerizing.

Katie's feet smell like Fritos.

Tomorrow, we are going to drive out to the Arizona Renaissance Festival. I probably won't get much healthy food there, although I won't be eating a leg of mutton or whatever those fools serve up at the renaissance festivals. What is mutton? Since I don't eat the red meat I will never know its faire taste. You know what they do at these festivals? The Birds of Prey show. Where they have a sissy guy in a leather jerkin holding a falcon with one of those little bird-beanies on its head. And they make the falcon fly around and land on his glove on cue and they give the falcons dead baby mice or something as a reward. I think they should have a "planned accident" once in awhile to stir it up a little. Like the falcon lands in a baby carriage in the crowd and just walks all over a baby. Or it carries away some guy's toupee and drops it in the thorny bushes. Even better is if the falcon just turns on the trainer and starts clawing and pecking his face apart. They'd probably send the Emergency Back-up Jester out to play a little flute and dance around with little bells on his colorful outfit and juggle to distract the crowd as they rush Ye Olde Ambulance to the scene and cart away the guy with the bloody face, and snap the neck of the killer falcon.

Someone please tell me the name of those little hats the falcons wear! They look like helmets and they tie under the falcon's chin. I wonder if that area is called a chin when it's on a falcon, or other birds of prey. Someone should tell me, because I am too tired and hungry to look it up myself. And I need some french fries before I combust from the lack of salt in these here blood vessels.