Actually, I’m not in the mood to care to remember a bunch of people storming a prison and setting fire to a lot of stuff, but it was something to use as a title, and that’s all that matters. I’m more concerned with the fact that the Mommobile is leaking gas. It’s no wonder I’ve had to put money in it every other day despite the fact that I’ve barely driven the little bitch. So when Ian wakes up to go to work, I’m going to see if he has enough time to run me down to the car-fixer-place (can’t think of the real name right now) so we can get it fixed. As it is, I might end up needing the ‘rents to come get me next week for Sarah’s wedding. Oh, and I just printed Jerry off again for format review; apparently Hippie prints things funny and it came out looking like the font had been changed. Whatever; I’m almost done anyway. Now, to cross stitching–with a hand that stinks of gas. Shit. Guess I’ll go wash it again fifty times.