cain

Not that I have anything of relevance to say, but I'll update anyway. The weekend was full of weird. Heather and I trotted to the covered bridge festival, which was a complete waste of time and effort. The only interesting thing was sitting in the car and doing science experiments with my severely infected surface piercing. Which, by the way, I've named. The piercing is below the navel, straight through horizonitally, and shall hereby be called The Aborigine. That's what it's called, so when you see someone with a surface piercing below the navel, be sure to comment with something fetch like "Nice Aborigine piercing, beyotch."

Drunken highness ensued. Confusion, awkward introductions, attempted conversations, et cetera, et cetera.
I hope SOMEONE (this means you) remembers to return Spun. I also hope that someone remembers to bring my phone charger, digital camera, and MD 2020 bottle Katie wrote all over when they come to visit next.
Sunday was spent introducing parents to flatmate, shopping, and trying to stay awake and not tweak out while explaining classes to mother. I had that weird high feeling one aquires with little or no sleep the night before. Then Sunday night I had warm snuggly time that involved random yellings into the night. Which floats into today.
Monday.
My thoughts on the aborigine are conflicting. Should I just take it out or what? Is this rejection? I don't think it is. My body just hates me, that's all.