I'm All Out of Love

Im so lost without you. Ahhh, Air Supply. Is there anything more satisfying than listening to cheesy angst that is their music consisting of different lyrics all set to the same music? I think not. And that is why my phone now rings the above referenced song. I get all giddy just thinking about it. I am told that I need to watch the second edition of the Best of Will Farrell, cuz it has an Air Supply skit, which consists of them singing to the same music, "I like your pink blazz-er, I think it's real grooov-ey." For that alone, I must watch it. (ps, I just figured out how to download ringtones, which I always thought I didn't care about having, but not cannot live without).

I am all out of love, but not for my newfound massage therapist. I just like throwing that out there. Yes, she works wonders. Magic hands. But before you start thinking me frivolous, the massage was free, and I have had major tension related back and headache problems. She is very reasonably priced and I am going to receive a series of massages to remedy the problem and not complain once. The whole being unclothed with a stranger in the room was a little disconcerting in the beginning, but got over that real fast.

I am having herb encrusted salmon for lunch today and am stoked. All hail the hospital cafeteria.