Nnnrgh.
It's Monday, and I want nothing more than to be at home, snoozing in bed. The weekend was an absolute blast, but yeesh. I really should have planned it out better so I could've gotten more of that sweet sweet healing sleep.
Friday was mainly a blur. I spent most of the day working, and when I finally got home, I ended up going to bed early. Saturday on the other hand, is when the fun begins. Queue up movie night with the arrival of the High Warmistress Devon, and her Escort, Andrew McSteelnipples. First, we perused through my computer's vast database of weird/humorous clips, while also dabbling a bit into photos of my sordid Cosplay past. After that, it was off to see Employee of the Month. Dane Cook = Awesome. Movie overall? Meh. Was fun. As for Air Hockey, I was finally dethroned as Champion. I forget how the matches went, but I lost royally to the fierce McSteelnipple technique, even managing a straight 0-7 point loss on my part. Fortunately, I managed to salvage some of my pride after the movie by winning back a few matches against my erstwhile foes.
Unfortunately, Sir Scott and his squire Nathan were inflicted by an insidious hex of Misinformation. Their presence at the movie was sorely missed. But further plans were to be kept, and once we gave our farewells to the High Warmistress and her Pet, we amassed en force and pillaged our way to Club 1150. Our goal? Dance to George Acosta.
Needless to say, that goal was accomplished, and much more. From the eventide hours between 11 and 3, we razed the dance amongst smoke and sweat. And after, we waxed strong yet, and called for a limo to secret us away to our next destination. There, miles away from prying eyes, we found ourselves in an aphotic den, the dwelling place of those who see only by Glowstick and Photon. The music there was harsher, and the musicians possibly even more talented than Acosta himself. So we danced, learning the ways of the Glowstick amongst those few who managed their way from 1150. And once the sun finally crested that urban horizon, we sank our way home to rest, dream, and recuperate.
Unfortunately, like the doofus I am, I couldn't sleep, and ended up spending 9 hours on Sunday finishing up some leftover work. Sooooo... I think I got 3 hours of sleep last night. Argh. This Asian wants more bedtime!
Oh. And my pants smell of dirty dirty club smoke. Blech.
Friday was mainly a blur. I spent most of the day working, and when I finally got home, I ended up going to bed early. Saturday on the other hand, is when the fun begins. Queue up movie night with the arrival of the High Warmistress Devon, and her Escort, Andrew McSteelnipples. First, we perused through my computer's vast database of weird/humorous clips, while also dabbling a bit into photos of my sordid Cosplay past. After that, it was off to see Employee of the Month. Dane Cook = Awesome. Movie overall? Meh. Was fun. As for Air Hockey, I was finally dethroned as Champion. I forget how the matches went, but I lost royally to the fierce McSteelnipple technique, even managing a straight 0-7 point loss on my part. Fortunately, I managed to salvage some of my pride after the movie by winning back a few matches against my erstwhile foes.
Unfortunately, Sir Scott and his squire Nathan were inflicted by an insidious hex of Misinformation. Their presence at the movie was sorely missed. But further plans were to be kept, and once we gave our farewells to the High Warmistress and her Pet, we amassed en force and pillaged our way to Club 1150. Our goal? Dance to George Acosta.
Needless to say, that goal was accomplished, and much more. From the eventide hours between 11 and 3, we razed the dance amongst smoke and sweat. And after, we waxed strong yet, and called for a limo to secret us away to our next destination. There, miles away from prying eyes, we found ourselves in an aphotic den, the dwelling place of those who see only by Glowstick and Photon. The music there was harsher, and the musicians possibly even more talented than Acosta himself. So we danced, learning the ways of the Glowstick amongst those few who managed their way from 1150. And once the sun finally crested that urban horizon, we sank our way home to rest, dream, and recuperate.
Unfortunately, like the doofus I am, I couldn't sleep, and ended up spending 9 hours on Sunday finishing up some leftover work. Sooooo... I think I got 3 hours of sleep last night. Argh. This Asian wants more bedtime!
Oh. And my pants smell of dirty dirty club smoke. Blech.