I think the test went well and I'll straight up murder myself if I didn't pass.

Saturday night we went to some cave-like bar in Highland Park to get our friend shitfaced for his birthday. I'm not sure whether or not we succeeded, because most of what I remember from that night was painting sugar skulls with two great ladies, and then eating a quesadilla that was so hot it was criminal. And offering tuna salad to everyone in line.

Because I carry tuna salad (and one slice of bread) in my purse. For emergencies.

On the realest note, this time change needs to take a seat. Brad and I got into bed at 6 last night to watch TV and I guarantee when I woke up at 4 AM, that meant I had just slept for ten hours.

Here is the only picture I took all weekend.