Draaaaank

These are the dashing gentleman I got to spend my past weekend with. I feel like no photo comes so close to our relationship as this one. Because obviously I'm the classy one, Titus in the middle is the charming one, and Nicholai Steen on the right is the alocoholic.

I just returned to Las Vegas after spending a weekend in San Francisco auditioning for graduate programs. So...we'll see how that turns out. On my travels back home I spent a good portion of the morning walking in the rain looking for the train station to take me to the airport, finally getting there soaking wet and learning my flight was delayed an hour and a half. My solution to this problem obviously involved me drinking four tall glasses of beer, followed by a mix drink on the airplane while I watched Jersey Shore, delivering me to my mother in a nice drunken state. Being that it was Valentine's Day, my concubine Derek suggested we go out drinking to a plethora of bars down on the Las Vegas strip, launching me into a state of utter intoxication, exhaustion, and delirium. Its as if all the overtly stimulating experiences of my weekend and travels home mixed together in what felt like a lucid dream but happened to be reality.

For example, I truly believed at one point in the night I was talking to Ronnie from the Jersey Shore, and in my efforts to confirm this I proceeded to take a step back from him and stare at him with one eye closed so that he would stop multiplying. My friend Dylan calls that move the drunken pirate. Then, if falling asleep in the back of the cab ride home wasn't enough, I got yelled at by my mom for making a racket in the pantry at four in the morning, and didn't understand why she failed to remember that I was a gladiator and had an important fight the next morning. When I woke up, I was greeted with a loving, "you were eating raw noodles at four in the morning again."

I attribute the gladiator fantasies to my indulgence in the series (porn) Sparatacus over the weekend. Who doesn't love a show full of bare breasts, man ass, and frequent decapitations? And today, it was the only thing distracting me from checking my e-mail every ten minutes to see whether or not I got the next callback to these graduate schools. I think I now can relate to a crack addict who is waiting on a call from his dealer. Gotta get it gotta get it gotta FUCKING GET IT.

meow.