ugh
I don't feel very good. I think I celebrated a little too much yesterday. *burp* I think I had somewhere around 5-7 glasses of champagne plus a good bit of food. Nothing like being drunk by 5:30 p.m. I actually felt fine until around 10:30 when I came down with a splitting headache at Jwan's house. Then when I got home I had to stay up for a little while writing my column for Goose's thing. While doing that my stomach started to make its presence known and my bowels demanded to be moved. In the bathroom I kept thinking that if I threw up I'd be really pissed. Got into bed, read half an article about John Malkovich in NYT magazine then started pass out. As I drifted off to sleep I began to have paranoid fantasies that I might die in my sleep, choking on my own vomit or whatever. The potential shittiness of that situation prompted Alanis Morisette's song “Ironic” to begin running through my head. I fucking hate that song. So it was a good day but a bad evening. I'm trying to work on this piece for Pulp (I'm not real sure how long it's supposed to be…I should find out) but my headache keeps interrupting. Ick.
Graduation was kind of fun. I only knew one person there. We used to work together at Music X. He's a sweet kid but he has so many annoying friends and very poor taste in music. (“Do you like Dashboard Confessional? They're my favorite band. Do you like Avril Lavigne? I love her.” argh.) This one friend of his came over and started babbling about how she had been crying all day and that she really wanted the fact that she was graduating summa cum laude broadcast over the entire school. I kept having these visions of throwing my cap at her head, shooting-star style. Then of course she started going on and on about her fiance and flashing her butt-ugly engagement ring in my face. I can't stand women sometimes. gah. Why are they so retarded?
I really wish someone was here to take care of Kingston while I curled up in bed for a little while longer.
ugh.
