Party like it's 1999

So the party was good. Despite my personal hostess paranoia about putting on a “quality” party, I seemed to pull the food, drink and merriment off with reasonable success. Good food, good friends, good alcohol, good gossip. There really are only so many things that can be said for a party. The turnout was smaller than expected, but the company was so cool as to make extraneous people simply redundancy of fun. Of course this means that I bought way way too much alcohol and everyone I know will simply have to throw themselves on the pike and drink heartily with me in the future (if only for the sake of my refrigerator space). Anne and Jett brought limes and some delightful queso dip that harmonized perfectly with the 4 year English Edam and the red wine. It was a feast.

In any case, the secondary party (apparently I was the pre-party to this post-party) was also a blast, and there are few things so entertaining as watching random members of your department chug beer bongs a-la-undergraduate-frathouse. I felt as though I was returning to those moments of blissful freedom where papers could be written in a weekend, homework only took and hour, and my social life was my utmost priority. Clearly I have my current priorities all out of whack - as I am neither carefree nor any smarter (although I can sure talk the talk - I used "instantiate" and “abject” when speaking to one of my professors this morning). Everyone got to meet my ever-charming boyfriend, and some events were so amusing that people literally fell down and cried they were laughing so hard. These, my friends, are the moments that stick with you. Although I may not be able to recount for you Adorno's particular views on aesthetics, I will always remember the tear-streaked faces of my friends rolling on the floor in a fit of utter merriment.

The rest of the weekend was delightful - although overshadowed by the 3-month surgery rotation hell into which my boyfriend is plunging. The little I see of him will now shade into the "almost never" category - which makes me a very unhappy girl. I feel that the only remedy for this is throwing myself into my schoolwork, cleaning my apartment, indulging in totally self-centered tarot readings, drinking tequila, and pining away pathetically while holding his picture (you didn't really think that I could be objective about this did you?).

That aside, I am looking towards a week filled with mystery and wonder - the mysteries of the far-more-fucked-up-than-I-thought-possible-Pierre, and wonder at my own ability to fall asleep anywhere in the Regenstein. Not all that mysterious or wondrous, but frankly, look at the material I have to work with here.