Happy Birthday to the boy who lets me get angry when Joe takes the slow-as-balls route to the Bradford Paisley concert, who'll let the washclothes accumulate at the bottom of the shower (I can't use one twice), will put up a legitimate fight for bedding in the middle of the night just to be beaten by the vice grip I have on all the covers, and who'll bring back not 1, but 2 6-packs of pure, Coloradoean(?) deliciousness for my Oregonian liver. Thanks handsome.Let 24 treat you as well as it's treated me. Both times. And again this year.
Oooh, Balboa Medical Center. The hospital was under construction at that time. Don't ask how I know this.
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