Mission Accomplished

Went to the sexy party upstairs yesterday night in an all-denim outfit of seduction and, once there, got jolly-drunk on delicious alcohol, which was of course the plan.

Jubb mixed me a delicious drink in a large dixie cup, his version of the sex-on-a-beach. Here's the recipe:

The Busticator
3 shots vodka
2 shots peach schnapps
2 ice cubes
Fill the rest of the glass with a 50/50 orange juice and cranberry juice mix

I couldn't taste the alcohol.

Or all the alcohol, at least. I thought it had one shot, not five.

So it was a good time, though honestly I don't remember doing much of anything. Talking too much (and about myself and my writing, what's worse), taking too many pictures of the many people there.

Nothing historic or epic or embarrassing or especially interesting seems to have happened.

Unless you count scuttling around a corner Zoidberg-style, unwittingly fleeing an R.A. and the no-open-containers policy he represented. My kinesthetic sense had kicked in at that point and I was geeking out on movement, as is my wont when I've had a few.

I should have been a pair of ragged claws…

I went to sleep after having a ridiculous argument about the ridiculousness of being ridiculous about the ridiculous (I wish that were a joke) and deciding to be bored by both The Truman Show and Jonas' golf videogame.

I woke up with gum in my hair. Paranoid. Shaved it out, because I really don't care that much and didn't think that any of those home remedies actually works.

In the shower this morning, I vowed revenge. Except for those little sticks of cinnamon Trident, which my mom pulls from her purse every time I'm in a car with her, I don't usually chew gum.

And, in any case, I certainly didn't chew any last night, which means that either the Rand Corporation or one of my fellow students is to blame.

I'll post a picture or two from the party when I find a good one and feel like posting again.