Well I'm sure no one is surprised to hear that I'm swearing off drinking on another Sunday morning. Although it had been several weeks. It was someone's birthday, so we did this whole thing with a limo and a VIP room at some really nice club. Honestly, I was sort of uncomfortable, because I hate clubs, I don't do dancing, and I'm used to hanging out in complete dives. But we had a host named Rico (hehe) who showed us to our little private area, and then we had a waitress who kept coming back and being an enabler. I've decided that hanging around people who buy all your drinks for you is a really, really bad thing. If I was paying I'd stop after one or two just because I'm cheap.
I think the night ended badly for everyone, because a girl and her boyfriend got into a huge fight on the way home and there was a lot of screaming and hysterical crying and the rest of us being really uncomfortable. I lost the bit of the night where I actually got home, I just know I woke up in bed at 9 am fully dressed and with my glasses still on. I also seemed to have ripped off a fingernail, it's all bloody and painful. I know, gross, sorry.
I'm really confused because my computer and the clock on the cable box say it's an hour earlier than the other clocks do and I thought the time wasn't supposed to change until tonight. It's really not helping with the general disoriented feeling,
And now for something completely random, Jeff ordered me to blog about the fact that when I was 11 I had a poster of Jonathan Brandis on the ceiling over my bed, because apparently this makes me kinky.
Oh yeah, and about the English Patient. All I know is that when it ended I was quite confused and felt like I needed to watch it again, but there was no way in hell I was watching it again because it's three hours long. Somehow I managed to miss the point of how Ralph Fiennes and that Caravaggio guy knew each other. Maybe I just wasnt paying attention anymore by the end.