Dear diary... Went to the annual town festival on Saturday. I woke up yesterday with an incredibly punishing headache, a fair amount of sand in my hair, a blood-stained handkerchief, the name "Eve" and three kisses doodled on my wrist (alas, no phone number) and wearing a rather smart casual jacket that I had either found or stolen some time that night. I had so much alcohol coursing through me that my blood would have made a decent disinfectant. My memories of that day/night/morning have become exceedingly hard to dig up, as if someone put out their cigar on the movie of my life (wow that analogy was dumb). I remember conversations with my friends which were really one huge random slur, with subjects ranging from budget kitchenettes to our favourite Dead Rising psychopath. The blood on my handkerchief is covered. My nose had a rather unpleasant encounter with a wayfaring elbow which resulted in a nosebleed. Could have been worse. The sand in my hair (and boy, was there ever sand in my hair...) may have something to do with me cartwheeling home the whole distance several hours after daybreak. The girl's name is still a mystery but I suspect that the truth will be far less...promiscuous than my masculine fantasy wants to believe. I'm going to keep the jacket too. Partly because I can't be arsed to find out who it belongs to, and partly because it really does look rather slick on me. I'm no connaisseur but the thing goes absurdly well with my shoes. You'd think the weekend would end there and grant me some peace and quiet. No sirree! I woke up Sunday afternoon with a hangover a mile thick and my mom shoved a dish in front me: "Here. Cod in cream sauce with croquettes." and I was like "YES!" accompagnied by two sincere thumbs up. Admitted: I wolfed it down with less elegance than such food deserves, but I was happy enough that I could taste any of it at all. Due to my ability to flip my inner switch from vulgar to cultured in 0,55 seconds, I went to a concert by the local brass band yesterday evening. A brass band that is far too talented for its limited size and fame by the way, but the musicians themselves would rather not be reminded of that fact because their conductor is an obsessed prick. Needless to say that my hangover dug its claws in my brain for the entirety of the performance, with a painful climax by the time Liszt's Grand Galop Chromatique kicked in. I had planned to stay sober that night but nothing of the sort happened. Instead I ended up congratulating the band members, talking to a prince who shares my first name and getting wasted. I nearly got into a drunken brawl with my dad, feeling very Irish in the process, but it was nothing serious so I guess it's all good. The only person that was further gone than our bunch was an old high school teacher of mine. Annoying as he was, it felt good to shut him out of our clique, challenging ourselves to ignore him. By the time he started throwing coats at us to get some attention, we figured it was time for us to leave...to the pub. Obviously we stayed there until closing time, having a pseudo-intelligent discussion about solar panels (and a less than intelligent rant about their dickwad conductor). So here I am, unshaven, writing down gibberish, laptop blasting Blue Ã–yster Cult, being more vulnerable to sunlight than your average non-Twilight vampire. I plan on writing my impressions of the weekends down from this point on, and as a first try I decided to bother you, the good people of KHV, with my attempt. Don't worry, I won't be making a habit out of it. I have a presentation on AIDS sometime this week, which breaks down to telling my extremely hot Science Communications teacher that the back door is more dangerous than the front door (which in turn is more risky than the chimney). Unprepared and not giving a shit about it yet (standard fare for me). I'll be spending a good chunk of my Friday observing penguins, which are rumored to do NOTHING AT ALL except standing there, being Antarctic. All in all it's still briling in the slithy toves. TL;DR: My life is fairly epic imho, sometimes up to the point of hoping that it was less so.