Okay, try not to be too disgusted with me... I burp. I know this is usually unheard of in well-bred young ladies such as myself, (so is screaming incoherently at a busload of German tourist nuns on 16th Avenue, but God damn it! Learn to drive, ladies! Schnell!!! Schnell!!) but yes. It has been known to happen. Tonight, after a lovely, 30 degree day, followed by golf-ball sized hail, and tornados, and now sunny and warm again (who loves Calgary? Put up your hands! Careful... Lightning!), I am being plagued with the most brutal belching I have experienced since the trampoline bouncing kegger. It's my fault, really. I made an out-of-this-world greek salad with fresh (FRESH!) oregano, and basil. Yum. Since then I have consumed about 4 litres of diet coke. When the first burp announced itself, I actually tried to claw my face off. Onion, feta, and coke do not combine well on the return journey. I just wanted to share with you all, my lovely, lovely people. Oh yeah, there was also proscuitto sammiges... (sandwiches for all you non-floobinese speaking individuals). So yes. Good combination, delicious taste sensation, burp of the devil and all his unholy minions. Ation. (it seemed like it should rhyme).