Thursday, October 31, 2002

I have eight minutes to write this blog. Eight minutes should be sufficient. The forty minutes I will have left myself to prepare for school may prove insufficient, however.

Bah, I stopped to read someone else's blog. I now have three minutes to write this blog. Frustratingly, I have almost nothing to write about. I've been trying to think of good anecdotes and I'm coming up with nothing. All I can think of to tell is a story that most of you have already heard. Ahh, well, you'll hear it again.

Time: Good Friday, 2000.
Location: My Friend Sarah's Room.
Backdrop: My friends and I decided we'd get good and drunk for the first time. My friend's father was providing the alcohol; his wife would've been incredibly angry about the fact had she known it. So we were all sneaking around and shut in Sarah's tiny room.

So, we're putting Jelly Beans in Zima and like drinks, to make them fizz up to drink them fast (Yeah, we're bright kids). Anyway, it's Zima so it's not like we're really getting drunk. We are, however, getting silly and stupid. Friend trips over a candle, everybody jumps up to see if the house is on fire. I'm on the top bunk of her bed; it's dark. I lean way over the side of the bunk and THWAP something smacks me in the head hard. I let loose a flow of obscenities. Everyone wants to know what's wrong, I don't know exactly. Turn on the light. Turns out I smacked my head on the ceiling fan.