>90 "I wish it would get colder..."
50-60 "Why the fuck did I ever wish it would get colder?"
40-50 "Blah..blah..blah.. back when I lived in Orange County..." ("SHUT UP PAUL!")
30-40 "God damnit!"
20-30 "FUCK! SHIT! MOTHERFUCKER!"
<20 "SHITMCJAGGER! FUCKCHILADAS!"
Yes, at temperatures below 20 degrees but above the level where I kill myself, new cuss words are spontaneously invented. I'll have to start writing some of those down.
Anyway, aside from the cold, the trip has been awesome. The plane ride seemed like it was only about half ofull, so Kendra and I enjoyed the fact that we were the only ones in our row and didn't have to share it with someone else, which probably would have been uncomfortable, given that we were catching up on all the unsavory things we and all the people we know have done since the relatively innocent days of middle school. Of course, I can imagine an even more uncomfortable situation.
Thank god she wasn't flying from Sacramento to Chicago on Thursday.
Staying at Blake's frat has been awesome. There's a dining room in the basement with a nacho cheese machine and an unlimited supply of fun-size Oreo packs, a massive TV in the living room with a Tivo, and abolutely no alcohol. None at all. Totally dry.
But if an employee of the Evanston Best Western asks, I was 21 last night. And as far as anyone who was the party last night knows, I'm a freshman who's at CAS, studying Communications and living in the Allison dorm. I was lucky enough to come on Gone Greek Night weekend, with the second biggest party night of the year. Now, if you're like Scott, you're probably saying there's no way I could pass as a college freshman. Well shut your mouth, babyface, things are different here in the Midwest. Hardly any of these girls look older than me, and plenty of them look like high school freshman. It's ridicilous. I wonder what the hell they're feeding us California kids. Anyway, despite Cara's suspicions, I was a saint last night.
And if I'm a saint, Kendra must be the Virgin Mary. I don't even think she's had anything to drink at all while she's been here. She went to the movies with her brother last night and as Along Came Polly, so I guess the only thing Matt has to worry about is she might like Ben Stiller a little too much.
I found it hilarious that the magazine selection in the second floor bathroom here is Maxim, FHM, Rolling Stone, Stuff, and the New Yorker. Didn't take me too long to figure out that last one is my brother's subscription. The bathroom is actually surprisingly clean, and it has a urinal. Good enough for me.
Okay, well, now that I have some kill time I better get going on some of this homework I need catch up on. But before I go...
Q: How many girls coordinating date dance plans does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Eight. Two to spend five hours talking about how they want to change the bulb, one to get bitchy about the fact that they don't know where they're going to put the old lightbulb, one to screw in the lightbulb, one to take out the lightbulb because she doesn't like it, two more to talk shit about the girl who took the lightbulb out again, and one to finally lose it, go on a shooting rampage and kill everyone.
Be back Sunday!