Just a little bit of sex

Not right now you pervs.
What-like I'd suddenly break my no discussion of anything but school and TCR for some kind of lascivious content?
I put on a good show of being classier than that.
Even if I wanted to, I would refrain until I'd ingested more alcohol.
Right now I'm sitting in a bar, alone, on a Saturday evening drinking a beer and reading fandom wanks. I may hate folklore, but I maintain a love of fandom---god damn but it's a crazy fueled mass of ape shit obsessive activities. Think me-then multiply that by 40,000 times the insane. That's what I'm talking about. And reading stuff like that makes for a happy hippie.
Did I tell you-no, I didn't-was out Thursday night with some peeps and a buddy of mine said that I'd be a good high school teacher, cuz I have that "free spirit kind of hippie chick vibe." Which is really what all the finer programs are looking for, "Kids, I woulda got those papers graded but I was SO wasted last night. Ecstasy and bourbon do not mix kids-just, trust me. OK. So, if you'll open your books to page 182..."
Perhaps the only downfall of not being in the ivory tower anymore is that I will not have easy acces to people that want to have conversations about stuff like misapplication of scholarship and which Elvis Costello album is the most under-appreciated. (That was a short conversation, as the answer is Almost Blue) This problem could be rememdied by staying in contact with people that want to talk about stuff like that-but I can rarely be bothered to do such things. Takes an effort I simply to not wish to put forth. As I am lazy and a bad person all around.
Last night the sister hung out with her boys. Whilst I stayed in Bowling Green all night because I was too caught up in the whole character based independent movie with a heavy concentration on dialogue and ennui she stayed out al night with people that like to watch Half Baked on basic cable and hang out in bars checking out chicks.
Night and motherfuckin' day.
Except both lead up to the next morning with the distinct sensation of having been hit by a series of trucks.
Actually, I didn't feel too bad on Friday morning. It was, for some odd reason Friday night-Saturday morning that totally sucked. Aftershock.
Of course, comparisons aren't really fair, we didn't have the option of cable,and I was the only chick in the bar that did not arrive attached to a dude. I got ogled I suppose, but only after a shot of Terrible Whisky. I assume there's something in Terrible Whisky that makes me more attractive.

Now I have finished my public final. I plan to re-read it because one essay was written while listening to Prairie Home Companion and I'm a little concerned about how well I applied my knowledge since I was giving most of my attention to Guy Noir Private Eye. There's always a nagging suspicion that my academic writing is smattered with observations about what I was listening to at the time. It's not really a suspicion. It's been proven on numerous occasions.
Seriously tho, which is more of teh lame-how I spent my last Saturday night or tonight alone at the bar putzing around on my computer?
Mum and Dad might drive the Honda down and we will change cars since they need a truck to move their stuff and I like the Honda because it is very small. But they might not. I don't even harbor portions of a clue. At this point it's all like a dream and I can't wake up to save my life.