Baby... It's 2 am...

And it's bloody hot in this apartment...

Of course, had Matchbox20 gone with these lyrics, their album probably would not have sold as well. It might have, though (all rights, copyrights, last rites, etc. property of me). Just saying.

I'm actually not complaining. Granted, it is warm, and my troglodytic frathouse neighbours appear to be having a shouting contest, ("HEY!" "WHOOOT!" "HEY!" "DUDE!" "WHAT?" "DUDE!" "HEY!") because they are scintillating conversationalists, but it is also Friday (Hooah!), and I spent a lovely evening watching Battlestar Galactica with my brother. If there was ever any doubt as to the depths of nerddom that I will sink to, I believe I dispelled it tonight. Possibly while pawing at the television screen at the close of the Season 2 finale, while whimpering to M, "Chris has the third season, right? RIGHT?!?"

In other news, I may have inadvertently roped myself (please excuse the pun) into riding a mechanical bull at a notoriously rowdy bar on Saturday night. Updates to follow. I'll be honest, apart from a few obvious exceptions (head, neck, spine, teeth) I'm really not too concerned about breaking something. I'm overdue anyway, considering the number of stairs I navigate in a typical day at the hospital. I'm hoping for a non-writing arm, or possibly clavicle, because I think I'd look good in one of those arm slings. "That's right, work that cast, awww yeah, now pose! Good! Just like that! Grimace! I like it, I like it!"

Yes. SMRT indeed.