Aug. 9th, 2009

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Chad's going-away party was last night. Note to self: "red wine, vodka, tequila" is not THAT much better of a combination than last year's infamous "151, tequila, beer" incident. For some reason I remember Charna walking past and me very loudly and enthusiastically and terrifyingly hurtling across the porch to greet her, but I feel like my brain may be making that up.

Also, if you give a former roommate an apartment key, she will use that key to go pee in your bathroom instead of the one up lots of stairs during other people's parties at the same house. Ashten and I also stole some ice cream once we were in there, but evidently it was her ice cream so it's okay, although I'm surprised that it took me to the END of the night to start puking, given the non-wisdom of adding dairy and corn syrup to that alcohol mix.

In non-drunk news, somehow my ceiling fan died randomly in the night -- light, fan, and all -- and it's supposed to hit 93 today. I am really happy with my new apartment, but evidently it hates me, because the current tally is at broken shower handle, blinds that won't close so I had to hang a sheet up, and now broken ceiling fan. And my microwave died in the move here, as well.

Now for Hangover Eggs. Provided my stove doesn't explode or something.
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I AM HANGING OUT IN MY LIVING ROOM WITH MY FATHER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND. AWKWARD CITY, POPULATION THREE.

edit: He has his iPod on full shuffle, and one of my mom's songs just came on the stereo. Um. This is. Um. This is a whole new layer of awkward and weird and gaaahhh heretofore unknown by man.

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