After some abdominal pain last night that grew worse this morning, Alan went back to the E.R. around noon, where he passed a pleasant afternoon. Er, that is, drank some horrible cocktail to better showcase his innards during another CAT scan, endured more tests, was pronounced non-infected, non- abscessed, healthy but inflamed and suffering the after-effects of surgery. He was sent home with additional prescriptions and is currently snoozing, half-whacked on painkillers.

And now a lighter note. I was ranting to a friend about the astounding suckitude of my rental car.

Me: And you want to know the worst part? The very, very worst? Want to hear about the poo icing on top of this crap cake?

Anne: What?

Me: Enterprise just freaking bought this car from Kia! So instead of a regular normal tag, it's got a dealer drive-out tag on it! So people will see me in it and think I voluntarily chose this! And worse, that I actually meant to spend my own money for this flaming ball of feces!

Anne: Well. Not anyone who actually knows you will think that. It's only random people you pass on the highway who'll think you're that stupid.

Me: That's bad enough!

Anne: Hence the paper bag. No one will know it's you. It covers your hair, right?

Me: $#@!#%&^!