Jenny Lewis

After several Svedka Citron and Fanta Orange sodas, High Life and Captain Morgan, I got over to the Barrymore Theatre to see the performance of the beautiful and talented Jenny Lewis. Our crew, consisting of Tyler, Fudd, Tex, Jess (among many others whom I'm too tired to list, but this does not discount their importance) walked to the Barrymore. At first thought, I was hesitant, but the jaunt was probably better for me considering the amount of alcohol previously consumed. The show itself was terrific, and the decision to drink wine afterward was awful. Tex bought a Jenny Lewis t-shirt and it fit insignificantly, so let me try it on, and I won the award of keeping it. I call this a serendipitous event for him, because let me tell you, kids, you can fall in love with a guy who loves Jenny Lewis... but you can't fall in love with a guy who wears a Jenny Lewis t-shirt.

In other news, Stephie isn't quite the spring chicken she used to be. 26 is not an old age by any means, but the hangovers get worse, the boobies start droopin', and heartburn is prevalent. Two out of three things were very apparent this morning when I woke up.