Every weekend should be long

Ooh, I love fuzzy Saturday nights! Is it wrong to automatically assume that any guy who hits on me has mad yellow fever? Because I usually do. All I know is that we made it to 49 Grove, got a lot of awkward balding men at Off the Wagon before hitting up the usual wonderfully questionable Bar None… in a LIMO.

That’s right. We’re so classy we roll up to a college bar in a stretch. We’d just been leaving MacDougal when a Mr. John Henry, Professional Limousine Driver rolls down the window. “You ladies need a ride?”

So we took it and he was, contrary to our prejudgments, quite the gentleman. He stroked our egos and in a 10-minute ride we got a motivational speech that involved him advising us not to ever give it up for at least three months because “if he really loves you kissing and holding hands is enough!” That’s right John Henry. You tell ‘em.

John Henry gets a picture of us on his iPhone as exchange for driving us around.
What questionable things will he do with it? Only time will tell.

Other memories: boy who could not dance but was so hilariously cocky it was almost appealing, enormous slice of mushroom pizza that really hit the spot, and John Henry calling Jade at 3 a.m. to announce he’d found us two good-looking boys. “They’re good guys! I screened them for you!”

…why is my life not a sitcom? Someone please tell me.

I am still somewhat intoxicated from brunch at Bondi Road. I’m baffled as to why there aren’t brunch spots with unlimited mimosas in San Diego. Frankly, I think it’s a brilliant marketing concept.

Jade rockin’ a walk-of-shame outfit (AKA my newspaper staff t-shirt),
Kayla, Hillary, burgers, and never-ending drinks.

Unless there are, and I’ve just been missing out. In which case I fully intend to make my fall quarter a fabulous one, filled with many Screwdriver Sundays.

I have so much to take care of in the next 24 hours. My ass-kink has not recovered, for the record. This week I also need badly to: get a manipedi, buy new clothes (how is it that I’ve only been here for three weeks and I’ve worn everything in my wardrobe twice?), write something of substance, etc. I think blogging, which once served a *get out of writer’s block* purpose just kills time now. Instead of doing anything productive I just blog and tell myself that was my one accomplishment of the afternoon. As if destroying any credibility with future employers is an accomplishment. Ha. I so funny.

Oh and I’m officially starting the Don’t Ask Me for My Number If You Aren’t Going to Call Club. It’s DAMFMNIYAGTCC for short.