I pretty much spent the weekend driving to a bachelor party in Chapel Hill only to pass out after being there for a mere nine hours. Yeah, I got mad skills. When I was awake, I did catch some basketball, enough of it to see my brackets limp into the Sweet 16. Congrats to Vandy. And damn you, Xavier. It was in your hands.

I woke up to my roommate throwing up. More than likely, a mixture of Jager Bombs and semen. He didn't deserve that. Bri, if you're out there, you didn't deserve that, dude.

Even though I'm hanging out in 80 degree weather, I feel like I'm still driving back to Charleston. That drive blew. The other big thing that happened this weekend is that I became single again for the tenth time in as many years. And you wonder where all my Keller's Kards inspiration comes from. It all started with a fight, and as you can imagine, I handled it like the mature guy I am. Anyway, we've said our "sorrys" (mostly mine) and we're limping, like my brackets, into the unknown. Where we end up is anyone's guess, though I do have an opinion on the matter. The one thing that's already changed is that I've finally started running again. By the way, six months off does not hook your lungs up. So here ya go, guys: my heartbreaking work of stammering idiocy . . .

Update!! First, pitchfork dry humps James Murphy to death. Second, that missing Boy Scout was found half a mile from his campsite. So did the search and rescue team not think about using the ole "call out his name" technique? Seriously, this is like an episode of that terrible show, Without a Trace. They send choppers all over the place, and CNN rolls in asking the question that's on everyone's lips, "Where could the Boy Scout be?" Turns out, he was taking a leak or something. Hey, I'll be in the library tomorrow for a few hours . . . you guys don't go searching for me now. Ugh.

Now back to that heartbreaking work . . .