I dare say it has been quite some time since I have posted drunk. Or, I dare say it has been a many moons since I've moseyed 'round this par-ticular pasture. That is, I mean to say, while drunk.

This house is a madhouse. More people sleep here that don't pay rent than sleep here that do. It's a difficult balance to maintain, but we work hard 'round here.

This evening I came home to find a home empy save for one lone Jessica. We watched a bit of that Bridget Jones's movie during which Jess and I drank every time she did something socialy awkward. (and we're talking British awkward, not USA awkward).

Jess has passed out and I am...well, I'm here.

More people showed up to the house. More drinks were drunk. More people showed up drunk.

I'm just trying to enjoy everything while it lasts.

Pyne! My professor's name is Pyne.

Oh, and I've decided to forgo the swimming class for a ballet class. Since, after all, I can already swim. And who knows when I might find myself thrown into a dance recital with my life at stake?

I'm just not willing to take that chance.

Are we lacking intimacy? Should I light some candles or something?

Let's not do this in front of the children. Just tell me what you want and I'll stop trying to second-guess you. I'll assume you know what's best for you and act accordingly. I suppose that is frightening, though. God forbid we be responsible for our own actions.

I've been trying to be less sarcastic. It hasn't been going well.

But my capacity for understatement is as strong as ever.

Today is Saturday. Is Saturday some sort of day? I met a New Zealander today. I suppose that's good enough.

Happy Birthday, Alan Schuler. I'd sing for you but I forgot what number I'm supposed to call for that audio blogger thing. It's for the best.