Party of the year?

This post has bonus new jokes added-I thought them up while I was walking to campus. What a weekend. The weekend to end all weekends. The mother of all weekends. The un-weakest weekend ever. The...well you get the idea.

I'm going to serve my weekend wrap-up in bite-sized chunks because I've noticed most of you have ADD and will skim if I write a longer post. There will be no skimming of heckasac!! Would you "skim" War and Peace? Would you "skim" Anna Karenina? Well, probably, I know I did, in fact I usually skim most books looking for the dirty parts, that golden shower scene between Vronsky and Anna is a doozy, and the things they do with caviar, my God, but nevertheless, that's no reason to skim my blog.

Friday night-G-Bomb's birthday-I'm going to be bold and say party of the year-so far. This party was nothing but good vibes. Everyone's chakras were aligned, our collective chi was flowing like a river and my third eye was wide open. This was probably due to the presence of a keg. I know the dangers of keg beer as far as I'm concerned, so I bought myself a tiny bottle of Hennessey, instead. G-Bombs apartment is very cool and with the backyard and the large front room it's a perfect party pad. The Bananas ripped it up. There were chants, including "Mario", "Bullshit", "that's not a chant" and "now that's a chant". There may have been other chants, I can't remember. After the Bananas, my energy was flagging and I took to randomly slurring to people that would walk up to me "I want to go home". A charming conversation starter. I chose to remedy this by getting hecka stoned, which didn't wake me up at all but did make me giggle uncontrollably without provocation. There was a pinata. Other stuff went on...memory blurry. The djing began, with Tristan and Jason spinning soul classics. A good indication of when I'm drunk is if I'm dancing and I start to think that I'm a good dancer. I try to remember this, so when it happens, the tiny remaining sober part of my brain (probably located in the thalamus), can relay a message, "no, you're not a good dancer, and that helicopter "move" you're doing right now is something you'll torture yourself with embarassement about tomorrow". This time, the drunk part of my brain started to say, "you're a good dancer, bust any move you want", the sober part valiantly struggled to say "abort, abort", but then the stoned part just started laughing at the whole exchange and the ridiculous flailing continued. I didn't stay too late, but I heard the party continued for a while, and that there was some psuedo-Sapphic tongue wrasslin' later in the night. Hott! Hope G-Bombs apartment is OK. If not, her new puppy can probably console her.

I woke up the next morning with minimal hangover and the elation that I feel from having dodged the hangover bullet. Then, I got a call from Mike Banana....stay tuned for the next thrilling installment of...DRUNK WEEKEND IN SAC