can’t type.

stomach, too, full.

no, i’m kidding. i’m actually not feeling too weighted down today even though i wolfed down enough to feed a small army last night.

i did manage to get a long run in today, which makes ya jealous i just know it:)

this my last weekend as a 27 year old.

i wish i could say that means that the city will kneel at it’s feet for me.

that chicagoist will cover my birthday party.

that kanye will come out of hiding to rock the back room of the burwood tap for all my friends.

that playboy magazine will send over two playmates with phD’s and an interest in vonnegut to have dinner with me sunday night. playboy’s never done a damn thing for me.

but i can’t say that.

i can ask you to come to my birthday party tomorrow night at burwood tap though.

so please come, readers.

it’d really make my day.

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