I woke up on Saturday morning and stumbled to the bathroom in a hungover haze. Halfway there, I kicked a blanket on my floor and the blanket kicked back because someone was wrapped up in it. I couldn’t see because I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so I used the bathroom and stumbled back out, got back into bed, groped around for my glasses, and discovered Bob sleeping on my floor.

 

 

The funny thing is the fact that even though there was somebody unknown sleeping on my floor, it wasn’t strange to me. And also, I wasn’t alarmed. Apparently she came home around 5 and passed out on the floor because Lottie passed out on the futon, and I was so dead to the world that I never woke up. Such are the happenings of this household.

 

 

A few of us got plastered on Friday and roamed around downtown as per usual. Saturday night, a bunch of us watched movies in my room. In fact, that’s what I’ve been doing pretty much for the past two days, with the occasional break to eat or buy some groceries. I had every intention of going to the gym but the bus stops running early on Sundays.

 

 

We watched Zack and Miri Make a Porno, which was good besides the super shit sappy ending. I don’t know how anybody could turn such a ridiculously crude, sexual movie into a romance story, but somehow it happened. And they didn’t even release the porno in the end, so the whole problem of being in debt was never solved.

 

 

Then we watched Definitely Maybe, which I guess was supposed to be a love story but turned into the most frustrating piece of shit I have ever seen. Basically the main character goes through about twenty years of dating the same three women and getting his heart broken/breaking their hearts, and in the end finally makes the right decision. Like holy fuck buddy, how clueless are you? Even with the stupid happy ending I was so depressed about possibly having to go through another 20 years of that bullshit before finding “true love” that I wanted to throw bricks at the TV.

 

 

Being bitter is fucking exhausting.

 

 

I’m going to go pry myself into some awkward positions as an attempt to do yoga and then eat banana bread. My six weeks of gym time have been entirely erased by the garlic fingers I ate last night and the beer I consumed on Friday. BUT there was no vomiting this weekend, and I think that’s a good thing.

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