Yesterday was the delayed celebration of my spirit journey formation anniversary.

I am sorry to say that I do not remember much of it. This is what leads me to believe I had a rollicking good time. Lots and lots of people came and crammed themselves into the apartment. My friend, S, enforced a $5 cover charge. Most of this money went to buying alcohol, but we ended up hideously overbudget anyway. I took shots of this and that and acted a damn fool all night long.

I had a number of excellent conversations, that, if you know what I'm talking about, are sort of little legos, added to the tiny brick house of friendship, making it taller and more structurally sound.

And then this morning I woke up and promptly puked my guts out. Thrice.

Apparently sometime last night I decided it would be an excellent idea to eat spaghetti. That was dumb. And I slept with a tampon in. Also dumb.

See, I don't drink very often at all. When I do get drunk I tend to get shitfaced. I don't think I'll be attending any more parties for a good while.

In other news, I agreed to help S move her stuff today. She is moving into an apartment with her boyfriend. Le sigh.

I wanted to give up on ever giving advice again, but MC talked me out of that by reassuring me that she's just stupid, which brings me to my next topic, her boyfriend.

I made a spaghetti, corn salad, and garlic bread dinner for myself and my friends the other night and he attended. Y, B, B's girlfriend L, and J, one of B's friends, all asked me after he'd gone if he was drunk or high or just stupid. He wasn't drunk or high. I'm glad I'm not the only one who stares at the guy in utter disbelief.

So, we'll see how long this apartment scenario of theirs lasts and I'll get back to you.

And I'm not just being bitter and cynical because my own live-in-girlfriend thingie didn't work out. Because of that I am wary and cautious. It doesn't mean I've given up and would never try it again.