Here. Chant with me.

"K-A-P-P-A
G-A-M-M-A That's what I amma
A Kappa Gamma (Whoo!)"

Repeat five thousand times.

I didn't go to class today, and I have absolutely no good reason for skipping. None at all. I was awake for several hours beforehand, but kept putting off a shower until it was too late.

(I can't bring myself to leave the house unbathed. If time is running short, I'll shower without washing my hair and just wear a baseball cap, but I must actually take the shower before I can go anywhere, even if it's just to the mini-mart.)

I wasn't even doing anything at all productive. I wrote an entry about my weekend, but it was lost when my Netscape crashed before I had saved it (every single time I write the entry online, something happens, and I go back to writing them offline in Notepad like a good little girl). Then I read some journals and the news. Then I started downloading .wav files to substitute for the event sounds in my desktop theme, so when there's a question, it's now Mulder saying "Do you think I'm spooky?" and when there's a program error, it's now Dr. Evil saying "I didn't spend six years in Evil Medical School to be called Mister, thank you very much."

I only have one damn class on Mondays, and it's at 11:00 for crying out loud, and I didn't go.

Slacker. Slacker extraordinaire.

So Saturday night we went to the only local bar that has a dance floor. (Just to give you an idea of what we're dealing with here, the bar has "Roadhouse" in its name.) "We" being Susannah & Trevor, Lynne & Ed, Marissa & Richard, and... me.

We spent the whole night casting evil stares at two women who sat in one of three booths in the whole place that could handle eight people, while the seven of us crowded around a booth for four. (Just how many numbers can I put in one sentence?) At first we were going to go over and offer to buy them each a drink if they would switch with us, but then we got a look at them as they headed to the dance floor and thought better of it. They looked like they could easily kick all seven of our asses without batting an eye.

It was fairly uneventful except that at one point two guys from our class came over to say hello. (Let's call one of them DrunkGuy and the other one SoberGuy.) Turns out that SoberGuy kind of got suckered into babysitting DrunkGuy for the evening after having accepted a dinner invitation from DrunkGuy and his wife before he understood that DrunkGuy was already drunk. Apparently his wife didn't want to put up with him anymore, so she sent them out into the world for the night and made SoberGuy promise to bring him home in one piece.

At some point, DrunkGuy decided he wanted to go dance and made all us girls go with him. It was most evident that he was having a lovely time watching us dance... or rather, watching our chests dance.

We then went back to the table and, apropos of nothing, he proceeded to loudly proclaim his talent at a certain sexual act, apparently taking no notice of the fact that every one of us was trying to crawl under the table in response to this proclamation. SoberGuy decided it was time to put us out of our misery and suggested it was time to go, which DrunkGuy happily agreed to without a fight.

After another hour or so (when the songs started repeating...what lameness) we left and went back to Susannah and Trevor's, where I made a bunch of grilled cheese for everyone, which took me back to my college years where I was the designated driver and Sunday morning at 3 a.m. often found me cooking grilled cheese for my drunk roommates and friends. We looked at two or three particularly humorous moments from the wedding video (one of which was the groom, having difficulty getting the ring on the bride's finger, muttering, "We need more holy water...") and then we all went home.

There have been several times this week, and several more times just today, where I have really wanted a cigarette. I haven't had any in a couple of months, and almost picked up a pack at the store today, but you know, Kim is in the throes of kicking a seven-year habit, so I decided to ignore my own small craving in solidarity.

You go, girl. We're all proud of you.