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You know your life is awesome when you characterize one of the highlights of your day as being hit on by your fourteen year old hick second cousin. Sweet life. Then when we got home and I realized all attempts at actually learning to drive were completely futile, I curled up in bed and watched Schindler's List. Presently I'm still in that puffy-eyed, running-nose, "is this real life?" state.. so I'm thinking of countering pure, raw emotion with mindlessness.. aka The Hangover or another episode of NMtB. yeaaah.

Today I was just reminded of how much I wanted to blog about the fact that Mrs. Fusco calls me Becky. The name Becky is an embodiment of everything I hate. Actually, that's a lie.. although I really do dislike the name Becky. There was a lot of really amazing evidence I was going to supply to back up my argument about the terribleness of the name, but I've forgotten it all.. and this is just for general knowledge now: I really, really don't like that name. I would probably have that name if my mum was actually named Candy instead of Julie, (seriously, those were the names it was apparently narrowed down to for my grandparents) but thankfully that didn't happen.