Now we wait.

We won't know until the big gala Friday who won, me or Slick. I myself don't care. After I ate the six tacos lengua and the quart of guacamole, I ate a chocolate bar and two garlic knots and I drank a Newcastle and part of a Yuengling tallboy and I started to eat a pizza but then unaccountably I stopped after half a piece. I just didn't seem to want to continue with the project. Weird. Anyway, right now I'm having a nice salad with ginger dressing that I made my ownself with fresh ginger and tahini and then couldn't touch for a whole week because it had soy sauce in it and soy sauce has salt and salt might make me retain water and lose to Slick. After my salad I'm going to have some cold pizza. When the pizza is finished, I will desist with the carbohydrates in an effort to go from bloated stunted highschool girl to robust highschool gir, or maybe even totally ripped highschool girl. But I am not going to throw away perfectly good pizza. I hope that Slick is right now tucking into a plate of fajitas or a cheese souffle or a Boston cream pie, and I hope it is delicious. Now that I am living decently again, all of my animosity is gone. I feel a great fondness for the meringue formidable. He never tried to be no jockey, that's for sure.