blecch. four hours on the guilfordian today and the damn thing isn't done. I had to beg off to james as being tired, which I fucking well am. I get really irritated working with vera and robbie sometimes, but I wish they were here this week to share the burden.

I did have some fun tonight, though. the apartment+gabe and hannah went to the blue hour for jazz and overpriced liquors. I love that place, but it's gotta be a special occasion to warrant shelling out the dough. at least the guy playing the standing bass was hot.

speaking of special occasions, I don't like being 22 years old, dammit. 21 is the certified partying age, so once you hit 22 you start realizing that you'll have to start being responsible at some point in your life. responsibility sucks. sigh.

going to sleep soon, and I REALLY hope I don't have a dream as disturbing as last night's. for some background info, this urban legend: on the ohio players' recording of "love rollercoaster," there's a woman's scream in the background (rollercoaster, makes sense). legend was that a girl burst into the studio pissed off about something and that the manager stabbed her to death to shut her up...while the group was recording the song, and the scream was left on tape (see snopes.com for more details). it's totally untrue, but my dream last night was an exact recreation of the legend. I woke up all freaked out. bad scene. God, let me dream about sexy boys instead this time? please?