I’m actually looking forward to the work week so I can relax. Seriously. I’m exhausted. I keep falling asleep on the couch and drooling all over my cushions. I don’t even have the energy to shower. So I’m not gonna. Deal with it.

In case you missed my mad pimpage, Matador Life picked up an article I wrote for MatadorU about my hometown. Remember how I said it was difficult to capture how I feel about home? The feedback from this article was amazing. Are the editors over there getting sick of me yet? I’m a little sick of myself. I’m not sure if every writer feels the way I do when getting published, but lately I’ve been finding myself in a constant state of shock and awe and profound gratefulness towards everyone at Matador. I’ll go into a deeper discussion later, but I have a feeling they’re mostly to thank for the slow shift ofΒ  my attitude towards the world/travel/people. Big things are about to happen, folks.

So, Friday night I dropped money I don’t have on a party bus for my roommate’s friend’s graduation. Are party buses popular anywhere else? Here, they’re HUGE; I’ve been on at least six. Actually, click the Boob Emancipation banner on this blog and it’ll take you to a special memory from my all-time favorite party bus night. Apparently St. John’s loves party buses way too much, but they’re rare elsewhere (?), so I’ve uploaded a video for your viewing pleasure. Note to self: take longer videos, stop moving the camera, and get some filmmaking lessons.

I don’t understand how this is legal. I mean, it’s a moving vehicle, everyone is drunk, and there is a POLE. At one point, the bus lurched forward and sent most of us flying to the back of the bus. Several minutes passed before I realized I was sitting on some girl I didn’t know. The best part? Not one drink was spilled.

Holding that pole is just so empowering.

Holding that pole is just so empowering.

Last night I volunteered at the closing gala for the Women’s Film Festival. HOLY CHAOS. I was terrified that I’d be manning the merchandise table because I can barely count to 10, never mind count change. The merch table is exactly where I ended up, as well as handing out comp tickets. Surprisingly, I handled it reasonably well and had a lot of fun in the process, met some cool people, and was able to watch the screening of Crackie.

Holy crap. I don’t know much about movies, but I LOVED Crackie. I even cried. A lot. If you ever get a chance to see it, I highly recommend doing so…it’s filmed locally and casts the amazing Mary Walsh and Meghan Greely. I’ll blog about it later for Signal Blog if you want all the deets.

I enjoyed getting mixed up in the arts scene again, although I never quite fit in. My favorite part of the night was when a guy was telling me and another girl about what kind of face painting he does, and I thought for SURE I heard him say he painted vaginas. But no one flinched.

I turned to the other volunteer when he left and said, β€œdid that guy just say he paints vaginas?”

Man, that’d be sweet. Just walking around with a giant vagina painted on my face.

Anyway, then I met up with the lovely ladies and headed to Trapper John’s to see Crashing Carmine’s performance. Geez louise I love that band! And the bar. I mean, one of the girls hauled a 60-ouncer of Captain Morgan’s spiced rum out of her purse in the bathroom and gave me a swig. Perfect recipe for swine flu, agree?

Finally, today I went orienteering with the Girl Guides at Butterpot Park, situated right next to Candy Mountain. Just kidding, there’s no mountain. We trekked through bog, trees, rocks, paths, crappy trails and mud in search of candy. We lost miserably, but I deserve a fucking medal for dealing with all that, plus one extremely hyper kid, all on four hours of sleep and severely hungover.

I have tons of reading and writing to catch up on. I need to submit more articles. Goddamn.

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