At the end of the night we fuss and we fight. . .

Approaching 2am, I realize that cooking is an art. I'm not necessarily an artist when it comes to cooking.

I've had a really nice time hanging out with friends tonight. The movie thing was as bad as I had thought it would be, but as you might imagine, the free drinks and fine company made for a great night. We ended up at the Basement Pub, where Al decided to make it a "red beer" night. Good conversation and catching up with old friends made for a lovely time.

The ride home was fairly boring, aside from a stop at the market where every other aisle was blocked off so I dashed from place to place looking for beef, cheese and buns. I should point out that my bike was on my shoulder. Eventually I found all of the ingredients and made my way past Brian and Kelley's place. I was the asshole whistling at 12:45am on that block in case anybody was confused. 

Now that I've been home long enough to make some food, I'm finding that it's just not the same when you cook for yourself. I can't help but wish that someone was here to share the meal I just prepared. Really, It was worthy of more than one. . .