Tomorrow is Sports Night. My last Sports Night ever at The Boner. For those of you normal people who's lives aren't based around such an insane event, Sports Night is a competition between the four years that doesn't really involve sports and doesn't take place at night. It involves skit, dance, tumbling, mural, song, costumes & props, relay, and volleyball. Sounds like fun? It's not. It's highly competitive and has been the make or break of many a year. There are legends and curses and traditions and mania and it's completely absurd, but it's Fontbonne and it's my last one. I will not get teary-eyed now. I will save my sorrow for tomorrow [that really wasn't meant to rhyme.]
Onto happier things. Last Saturday was the Chrenna-hosted extravaganza The 1989 Party, which doubled as an early birthday bash for Gia. Me, Brenna, Steph, Janine, Gia, Sarah, Gabe, Pam, Dell, Deirdre, Stephen, Jamie and Spam had a night full of leg warmers, Paula Abdul and the B52's [LOVE SHACK!], 80's trivia ["What 'icy' war ended during this year?" "VANILLA ICE!?!?!"], beer [Top Two Drunken Moments of the Night: 1. Dell spewing pizza sauce all over Gabe & 2. Brenna lighting the wrong side of her cigarette and wondering why the air smelled like burnt paper], 80's awards [I won Best Big Hair and was awarded a heinous scrunchie and a bottle of Aquanet], and a crapload of Domino's pizza [Seriously, best drunk food ever. Me and Janine actually went through garbage on a Chinese couple's lawn just to retrieve leftovers]. 'Twas a success so Chrenna is conjuring up another year party, possibly 1967. If you're lucky, you'll be invited.
The week was relatively normal, especially for Spirit Week. Although, everything is killing me. Work is killing my diet because they've refilled the candy dispenser, replacing the gross Mike-n-Ike's with cashews, which I've been gorging on by the 25-cent handful. School is killing my brain because Sister Eileen said the word sex a record 13 puke-worthy times in one class and even managed to throw a "gyrations" in there. My parents are killing me because, if they say the words "financial aid" one more time, my brain is going to explode into tiny meaty pieces. So everywhere I go, I'm dying. Good times. For these reasons, I've cocooned myself in my house for the weekend, slaving away at the obscene amount of art homework I have due next week. Tonight, thank Margaret Cho [who is my semi-lesbian idol. Watch the video to see why], I have the house to my self, which means a night full of cigarettes, a Tivo'd Qaf episode marathon and guiltless carb consumption. Praise the Cho. Ciao.
And last but not least, my idol:
