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I'm tired, as it is now about two in the morning, the latest I've ever been up on the computer by myself. Let's comemmorate that with some (purposely) crappy angsty writing about nothing in particular.

So one night I ate dinner at Red Robin. This night in particular was to comemmorate my granddad's seventy-somethingth bithday. At least I think it was. Point is, I didn't want to be there, and neither did Carson. Wow, what a bad attitude he had then.
Regardless, I had pasta and chicken, neither of which was very good. To be frank, I didn't have high expectations anyway. I did like their strawberry lemonade though. A lot. /note to self
So ready for angst? Kay.
I shouldn't have complained about the food or the event, even if all the complaining was in my head. Why? Because on one hand, plenty kids here in this silly little town don't get to eat out much. I know enough that I can't count them on both my hands. Second. Many kids haven't got a single grandparent to speak of, let alone to celebrate their birthday. And I've got all four.

Mmm, it's shorter than I thought. Oh well. If you're bothering to read it anyway, I guess you're bored. Maybe it took all of ten seconds to read? Yeah? Kay. Good. Have fun with that.

Whatever.