Last Night

So... its been kind of a wild weekend.

I've been swearing that I was going to clean since forever, maybe? My co-workers, especially JL, think its kind of a joke. I say, "I'm going to clean my house this weekend." And then they ask, "Didn't you do that last week?" And I point out that no, it never happened because I sort of live in the lab.

This behavior should not be suprising to any readers who lived by me/with me, ever. There are only five things which can truely inspire me to clean: (1) The threat of visitors/eviction, especially my parents, grandparents, or my roommate's parents or grandparents. I cleaned once for T's Oma and Tanta. Oma was somewhat disappointed, since she later offered to clean for me. (2) My mother throwing a dinner party. Usually, this results in a mad scramble around my parent's house to vacuum, dust, polish, iron and scrub. Somehow, my room often gets neglected in the furvor, and so I'm not sure whether or not this even counts. (3) Being in someone else's home. Don't ask, but I'll do your dishes WAY before I'll do my own. (4) The impending apoclypse and (5) I get the urge. Usually, 1 - 4 happen way more often than 5.

I had motivation, though. AD is coming on Wednesday (!) and while N and I can live with our respective and communal mess, I'm not sure he can. So, I vacuumed the whole place, showed N how to change the blade on her razor, took out about 12 bags of recycling and 2 of trash, and washed all my clothes. N is going to sweep the kitchen floor and wipe down the counters. I am sitting on my made bed, in my clean room, and I'm not sure what to do with myself. I really need to study...

Also, its been weird because of what happened yesterday. St Pat and Michael Cera called me at 6:30 and suggested we meet at Cubby's for a smoke free dinner. Since I'm at a point where cooking for myself takes too much effort, and tends to cost too much money (Why don't they make single service containers of lettuce and carrots?) I figured there would be nothing wrong with a  burger out on a Saturday night. I got dressed up in a little jean skirt and boots because it had been a while since I'd worn anything girly. I didn't even drink anything, because I didn't want to spend the money, and I wasn't sure alcohol was the best idea.

Afterwards, we went to a party that Br was holding around 8. I'm not entirely sure what we were supposed to be celebrating, but that was okay. It was sort of a sausage fest when we arrived. Br lives with a guy, RJ, and his dog, Bear. Bear is definately a boy. So, I was the only girl in a group of 6 men. MM, and JN, two girls from my program, were coming, but they hadn't arrived yet. RJ and Br were eating bacon-wrapped steaks (Is bacon even a food?) and potatoes smothered in cheese. UFC was on Spike, and Bear was going crazy. During one of the disagreements about UFC, and whether or not arm bars were preferable to a first round knock out (guess which I advocated), Bear stuck his chisel shaped head between my legs, and my up skirt. He got a smack across the face, just like any guy deserves. The dog has no sense of the word "NO".

After dinner, we ran to the liquor store. Br, St P and RJ pooled their money to buy UV Blue, a cheap blue flavored Vodka (Blue is totally a flavor in this case) and Seagram's. M C and I went in on a 6-pack of Mikes. He owed me $3.50 from a pizza I'd order a few weeks ago, so that was fine. I got the mixers.

We went back to Br's house, where I drank two Mikes in about two hours, and refused to play flip cup. Apparently 24 oz of 5% alcohol was too much for my body to handle, because I lost no inhibition, but got really tired. So, at 11, the rest of the group decided that dancing and playing Lady Gaga at high volume and flipping and knocking eachother's cups was too much, so they headed downtown and I went home.

I may or may not have fallen asleep with most of my clothes on. I think I got off my trench coat and boots, and managed to get the computer out of my bed before I fell asleep around midnight. I woke up at 2 am to a phone call saying that St P was in the hospital. MS picked me up, and the two of us drove over, but the ER staff wouldn't let us back.

I'm not sure how I feel about that. Yes, MC was forced sober, and I had slept two hours. We were both dressed for going out (although I had put on jeans). We both look younger than we are, while St P looks older than he is, and he's got 4 years on us. I just don't think people should go to the ER alone, unless they're completely coherent and able to advocate for yourself. Even a bad advocate is better than no advocate.

I got a call at 7:30 from St. P saying he will be gone the rest of the week. I'll probably take has lab reports to grade. I hope that Br teaches his class. The rest of us have 3, but Br only has 1, so taking on an extra won't be as much of a burden for him as it will be for anyone else. What I see happening, though, is MC teaching St P's second class, me grading, and JN taking over his resource room. I don't know, though...