"Qu'est ce que t'as fait, Philipe? Tu as bu."
That is a verbatim quote from my fantastical french professor, Hugh the Badass. That's how he started our "what we did over fall break" conversation. That man makes my day all the time. Well, all the Tuesdays and Thursdays. And we laughed at the same joke last time, and he winked at me. God, recognition by people you admire is so great. So great.
On that note, this real purdy girl I snagged a smooch from during a night of drunken sluttery now smiles at me regularly and occasionally even makes verbal acknowledgment. Yessir, I am climbing such social ladders at Reed. She may or may not have once dated the dude who dressed as Hunter S. Thompson for Rocky Horror. One degree of separation. Booyah.
Tank Girl costume is nearing completion. The question lingers: to wear a shirt, or to not wear a shirt? It will likely be answered by forces outside of my control, since Get Naked is hosting another dance party after Harvest Ball. That was the best dance party of the year, no competition. Killer music, killer vibe, steamed windows, full encouragement to disrobe, what is not to love, I ask you? Run on sentences. Well fuck grammar and punctuation and all of that bourgeois bullshit. See how Reedie I am? You know, the first yearbook-thing was written in phonetic English.
I will aspire to that level of edgyness one day.
Tomorrow is Jason Webley, if I can get off my ass and find some folks to go with... Thursdays are inopportune for concerts. I shall overcome.
Yeah, I didn't actually think this one out. I just thought, hey, these blogglets are all so after-the-fact that you can't tell what it actually feels like. So I tried to do feelings dear, you know how that's hard for me. So that is what it is to think and feel. Hah. Yeah, whatever, maybe one day.
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