QuesadiLLas

that's how my brother pronnounces it. Quesadillas with an L, just b/c of the napolean dynamite movie. And let me just say that i will never again complain about a meal that my mom has cooked, because all i did was make a quesadiLLa, like heat it up for 30 seconds in a microwave (after my brother whined cuz i tried to help my mom (who is sick) and throw away the extra chicken nuggets when will was supposed to have them. he was like, "Why did you do that? Don't you know i EAT when i get home?" and huffing like i was his maid) and my brother poked it with his finger (there was a lot of cheese in the middle, not so much at the ends) and make an "ew" face and it made me so MAD that i wanted to pound his head in. but i have a bad temper. so i quietly considered how non-beneficial it would be to pound his head in, and how immature the phrase "pound his head in" is, and now i'm not even mad anymore. just devoid-feeling. kinda, "woah" but a little...out of it. now i'm a little frantic cuz of how sad that is and...nvm i'm getting worked up. gonna send kim a txt.