I haven't been able to sleep for days. Two hours a night at best, during which I've been quite talkative. Specifically the reoccuring phrase "There's three motherfucking stages, Jose." A) Who's Jose? B) I rarely say motherfucking as an adjective, if at all, in my normal vocabularly.
Burbs for most of the weekend. Saturday I went to Patrick's graduation party, hung out with my parents for awhile and then went to go see Forgetting Sarah Marshall at the Tivoli. Sunday consisted of me humoring my dad. Went for a motorcycle ride to see some million dollar houses he wants to live in. Storm clouds approachin.' At 70, I yell faster even though the speed limit's 25. Beat the rain, daddio! I'm much more like him than I'll ever admit.
Had my annual therapy session with my mom where she tells me how much of an asshole I am and then I defend myself and she agrees with me eventually and nothing gets resolved other than the fact that I'm an asshole thats needs resolution.
Chad and I are not getting a condo.
Kate's taking me and Lisa to a great gatsby-esque party soon. The night starts off with everyone popping open a bottle of champagne to see who can get the cork into the highest pool.
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