superflea

Saturday morning, I slept until noon. I don't know what was better - the feeling of waking up rested, or the feeling of looking at the clock and seeing that, for the first time I can remember since University, I slept IN.

The day was a little low-key. I did a lot of laundry, although I stand by my earlier entry that a communal apartment laundry room is destined to be a fiasco due to the fundamental nature of man as a giant asshat. So I didn't get as much done as I wanted (um... er... maybe "needed" is a better choice) to.

Then, in the evening, I got whisked away to the bad place. Once a week isn't terrible, is it? Remember: I'm new at this. I went with one of my friends, and after getting settled, we noticed a table full of our friends across the bar. We collectively have a problem But what a glorious, soft, smooth, wonderful-smelling problem to have.

To the best of my knowledge, none of us have indulged in any extracurricular activities in the "champagne room". (Granted, the first rule of Strip Club is that you don't talk about Strip Club.) Still, I think our only real problem there is of the "a fool and his money" variety. So far, my worst vice is sitting around like a dolt and smelling my shirt for a few minutes when I get home. Seriously - how do they all smell so freaking good?

I swear to God I'm not a bad person

Anyways, my friend and I have just spent the past little bit trying to find an open fast food joint that would serve us some hamburgers. Not actual properly prepared restaurant sit-down burgers - something fast, small, and greazy. The very helixes of our DNA quivered for The Whopper, but alas, there was none to be found.

We even ran through four or five different junk food variants (dumbass town and its dumbass closed by midnight restaurants) before we settled on just hitting the 7-Eleven and grabbing some ghetto munchies.

And now I'm home. I'm going to pour myself a glass of vanilla coke, eat some Doritos, throw on The Family Guy (I sleep best with the TV on) and drift into a glorious slumber. For the second night in a row, I get the bed alllllllll to myself.

Don't get me wrong: I love her. I love the little noises she makes when I come to bed after she's asleep. I love when she's not quite awake but starts talking in an extension of her dream, and then catches herself babbling. I love when we curl up and steal one another's heat and then she makes some little comment about the physics of it all (g33k girls are so freaking sexy).

But sweet cuppin' cakes, I love having that bed all to myself, sprawling madly off in all directions.

Absolutely nobody is expected to be at the office tomorrow, and I will sleep all the more soundly for knowing that. Tonight's chauffeur is likely coming over for a guitar lesson in the afternoon, and the girlfriend returns home in the evening, I expect. I think I'm going to make us a nice dinner and we'll curl up in bed and watch another DVD from the Firefly set. All in all, I shall consider the weekend won!

I hope your weekends are all going deliciously, and that you've had the occasion to dabble in whatever vice or virtue will bring the biggest smile to your faces.

Update: Awake again. Enjoyed having the bed to myself again. Slept to the Family Guy again.

I'm gonna listen to Catharine Wheel all day and you can't stop me.