A Thesis Is Done -- Just Not Mine

Being far more on top of eir schoolwork than I ever wish I could be, Stacy finished the first draft of eir thesis yesterday. Accordingly, several of us went out to celebrate that night. We went to the Uncomfortably Trashy Bar, which admittedly becomes less trashy with each subsequent visit. Heck, someone with a ZZ Top beard was friendly enough to introduce himself this past time, in spite of my attempt to avoid eye contact. Fortunately, I wasn't made to drive there after my recent troubles, and I got to enjoy my rum and cokes, which served there are a glass of rum with a shot of coke. It was Heather’s first time at this locale and ey was immediately taken by the motley clientele. “Maybe I’ll hook up tonight,” Heather quipped

It was truly a grand time. First, Stacy and I realized we are the same people, which is always a fun revelation. Then, though I try to avoid gossip currently, I reveled in a fantastically juicy morsel that shook me to the core and left my head spinning (perhaps it was the rum and swig of cokes) for minutes. Being good with secrets, I will never tell (this trait might be what distinguishes us, Stacy), but let me just say: “Ohmguh!” to the tenth power.

I was giddy enough to talk about this blog, even. I can probably count the times I have initiated conversation about my blog on one hand. I find it too awkward and self-promotional: I don’t want people to think I assume they read it or that they should read it. But if someone breaks the barrier and mentions it to me, that’s fine. After receiving a second comment here from someone named Janelle, I investigated and realized that Janelle knows Stacy. All I learned about Janelle is that Janelle is funny and that we’d probably really get along. Anyhoo, hello, Janelle.

Later, it looked like Heather might have gotten eir wish when some douche wearing a shirt reading, “If I don’t remember it, it didn’t happen” who we actually made fun of earlier in the night approached our table. As the douche chatted Heather up, I looked for some sort of “help me” sign for a while. Receiving none, I moved away to leave them to do something the douche would forget and Heather would only wish ey could. Once the douche left a bit later, Heather chewed me out for abandoning eir with a tool. Oops. Misread that one. I didn’t misread the tool’s shirt, however, though I wish I had. Stacy grilled said tool about said shirt. At first the tool tried to explain that ey bought it without reading it first (who does that?!) and then switched eir story to saying it was actually eir friend’s shirt. Sure. I sure hope the tool remembers Stacy’s third degree.

Sigh, I wish Stacy finished eir thesis every night! Eventually, the night had to end, but the fun didn’t stop: someone we carpooled with was so intoxicated that ey didn’t recognize eir own house after being dropped off at it. Spring Break!!!!!!! (Not really, I worked all week.)