John and I were forking on the couch last night after gorging ourselves on my mini-pre-Valentine's Day meal of chicken parm and we were deciding whether to watch Less Than Zero or Suspiria. Suspiria won out, but I wish it hadn't...I sure as hell wish it hadn't. Coven of fucking witches in a ballet school? Well there's a WONDERFUL premise. I'm amazed no one has ripped this idea of in the history of cinema.

You may ask why we had a pre-Valentine's dinner. Is it because I am soo in love with Valentine's Day that I just don't want it to end, therefore I start it early??? Nope, it because we won't see each other tonight, much like last year...except this year John's "blowing me off" for night class/exam whereas last year he blew me off because he "was sick and had to do laundry" aka he wanted to get back together with his ex-girlfriend but wasn't ready to break my little heart on VDay. I'm taking this excuse much better than last year's, where I cried on the couch and pretended to be optimistic on the blog. But that's just because I'm awesome.

Anyways, while I was snuggled on the couch with him, and he's all licking his lips after a tasty little meal he has the gaul to say to me, "You know, I was reading the archives of your blog and you used to be fun." (what a dick!) But I agree, I used to be fun. I used to do the most idiotic things. And actually, I still do. For some reason I'm so moony eyed about John that that's all I tend to write about...SNOOZE FEST...from now on, I'm reverting to my idiotic tales of drinking too much and doing ridiculous things. Gone are the fleeting months where I decided to be an adult. So, for your reading enjoyment I will tell you a tale of how I received a massive head wound this weekend.

Actually, I wish I could tell you that story, but honestly? The details elude me. I know that on Friday night John brought me home from the bar lit up like a Christmas tree. We also brought a bunch of people home. It was just like old times. The Basement Bar was fully occupied, people were drinking heavily and someone even managed to have sex on our futon (the futon, that will confuse CSI people in the future because it is simply decorated in our friends' DNA as gross as that may sound). The only difference? I was so full of "cheer" that I needed to be put to bed STAT. And there I was placed. But I was crafty. I did not want to go to bed. So I slipped out of it and crept downstairs to go back to the party--after all, it was in my house, was it not?? If nothing else, I'm a good hostess (or not).

That's when it happened. Either a door frame or a corner of an end table viciously jumped up and stabbed me in the side of the head. I was minding my own business when it attacked me, perhaps it was both of them? And they jumped me!?! I remember a lot of crying, a lot of blood, a lot of John saying, "Oh my God!" in a way that wasn't very comforting and me inquiring meekly (and drunkenly), "Is it bad?" and then saying, "It's bad isn't it?!?"

But obviously I'm alive and aside from the fact that I can't really brush my hair without crying I am fine. See, I'm still a drunk, I mean fun person!

I'm sure after this weekend we'll have plenty of interesting stories. We're going on a drunk bus to see our friend Tony play again. Each time this happens something insane occurs...for example, on our last bus trip we almost never got a ride home because the bus driver thought we were all shooting up heroin. Seriously I'm not that "fun"...we had two people on the bus that were diabetics. I believe they even informed the bus driver before we left!

So from now on my matra will be, "You used to be fun!" and I will attempt to write accordingly, because there's nothing worse than having the man you love telling you that your blog is boring.