They don't live too long, just a flash and then they're gone, we'll laugh at them and watch the sun go down

Earlier this evening, as I spoke with my parents in their living room, the earthquake hit. My mother jumped out of her seat - she thought a mouse or some other, larger and more bitey, rodent had begun scaling the back of it in order to enact some foul deed upon her person - while I wondered if a small plane had just landed on the house. My father didn't feel a thing. My mother and I were incredulous: there was no way he didn't feel that; he was only five feet away. "Didn't feel a thing", he said. I haven't figured out what to make of this. Best not to linger; off we go.

After yoga class last night, I asked Spira how she felt about it. "It was pretty good, but some guy - I don't know if it was you or the one in front of me - stank to high heaven. It was guy odor - you know, that horrible b.o. guys get." I took no offense at being suspected of something so unflattering and foul - we've known each other too long - but, and believe me I'm not trying to be boastful, I'm pretty sure she would have handled it a bit differently if I said something similar to her. Although, she didn't seem too offended when I broke it to her that she was the one stinking up the joint and her pungent aroma reminded me very much of a sub shop dumpster baking in the intense heat of summer. Anyway, I don't think I was the stinky guy, but in the interest of full disclosure, I should note that I did have six bowls of three alarm chili followed by a few soft tacos at Taco Bell earlier in the day. Don't tell me you haven't followed a similar trajectory before; I bet if I burrowed my head into your armpit, you'd reek of chalupas.

There is more, but there are other things that beg my attention. Not masturbation, you psychopaths. Okay, maybe masturbation. Anyway.... Adieu, conspirators.