Sparks on your Umberella

You’re the cutest thing that I ever did see. I really love your peaches, want to shake your tree. Lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey all the time. Ooo-eee baby, I’ll sure show you a good time.

I think that my nerves are slowly (and by slowly I do mean quickly) getting the better of me. I woke up at 4am suddenly remembering the names of two people I’ve been meaning to add to Facebook. As soon as I got to the living room I realized that two bad things had happened:

1. I had closed my computer when I should have left it open to let songs download.
2. Spencer had unplugged the internet so he could use it for himself.

All in all, that means that the music that I’m compulsively downloading for the party was not downloading on our ultralite (ultraslow!) internet. I dicked around for a while and tried to get the wireless to cooperate, but of course it wouldn’t, so I went back to bed and fondled the kitten for a while before I started to feel sick. Now it’s quarter past 5 in the morning, I’ve slept for maybe 3 hours, I’ll be up all night with the party tonight and I just want to puke puke puke.

I’ve been calming my nerves by reading wall-to-wall posts between people on Facebook. Keeping the good Chi going. I’ve also been rehearsing the list of things I need to still buy. This paycheque had better be great or else I’m fucked.

After I pay off the massive Visa bill (paying for a Keg on a credit card is a stupid idea ladies and gents), I’ve still got to keep at least $90 aside for a halfie, I need to buy more at least a 26er of vodka for punch, juice, chips and stuff, I need to find a makeshift punchbowl or borrow one from Erik, and then I need to buy a sweet hippie outfit.

All in all, I’m going to be broke as heck! On top of that I’m fucking starving. Not in the cliche African way, but enough to be uncomfortable. In the future I will learn that sacrificing food for booze is not a good substitute, and I will also learn that putting of cooking and grocery shopping only leads to stomach wrenching agony. Literally.

Good lord, party time is commencing in T-15 hours. Pray, heathens, pray!