Steve, Steve, where for art thou, Steve?

This is one of those days... Those days where I do nothing, except eat my already excessive weight in leftover pizza. Good for the counter, bad for well... me. Anyways,

I've been thinking of just renaming this blog 'For Steve.' I'm sure Steve will appreciate that, since he's basically the only one who reads this anymore, but I'll hold off until an undisclosed date for that.

Speaking of Steve, I have not spoken to him in about a week or so. He said he was staying at his dads, but he would still check on my blog and update his, both of which have not been done. If he's on vacation right now, I sware to god, [the uncapitalized god] I'll kill him. The idea of going someplace you don't know and staying in a place other than your own home, where in fact A. someone could have died in that hotel bed, B. someone could have 'made whoppie' in that bed, C. someone with [contangious] planter's warts may have slept in that bed, or D. all of the above could have happened.

Now when you take me to the Hawaiian Ritz Carlton, that's another story. But for now, I'm sticking with my above opinion.

Slices of pizza I have eaten this summer - 18
Time fallen asleep and awoken - 3 A.M. to 11:30 AM.
Pieces of pizza left in the fridge - Only 3 left of pepperoni, everything else is mushroom or something, so I'm not eating that...