Psst, I'm Snarfing Down A Snickers Bar

No big deal.  Only it's three-thirty-one in the morning.

I'm not drunk.  I'm not high.  I'm just a li'l hungry.  Well, a lot hungry.  And a li'l tired.  Maybe that's because it's three freaking thirty-one in the morning?

Is it just me, or are they packaging candy bars in smaller sizes than they did, say, five years ago?  I'm looking at my torn wrapper and where it should say SNICKERS it says BAR HUNGER.  Oh, wait.  Look at that.  I just turned over the wrapper and the other side does say SNICKERS.  Ha.  Very clever.  Love their revamped advertising gimmick.

Well, as a child of the eighties, I have no problem declaring that Snickers really does satisfy you.  And I'll tell you what: at 280 calories, it better.

I'm going to collapse in bed now...despite the deafening clanks from the heat pipe that runs through my room.  My best description?  It's like a hyperactive three-year-old banging pots and pans all night long.  Pure.  Joy.  Three cold seasons in this dratted apartment and that pipe is still causing me grief.

Peace out.  Muah.

(Don't y'all worry your pretty little heads, now.  I'll be Sonicaring before I tuck myself in.  But I may not have enough motivation to clean the old mug with my Parisian facial wash.  Keeping fingers crossed that I don't have a new pimple this time tomorrow...)