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Quick updates before Susan gets here:

1. Everyone had fun at the party but me. So far as I'm concerned it was a fucking disaster, and disaster's name was Arthur. He was splooging all over the place about his "first love" drunktexting him and leaving some voicemail professing his undying love for A or something. Because of this, I kept getting asked if I was "okay". I fucking hate being asked if i'm "okay". If anything, being asked if I'm "okay" will make me precisely the opposite of "okay". In fact, because of all that bullshit- oh, and he spilled a mimosa on my bed, thanks asshole- I ended up having the most violent urge I've had in months and slapped him in the face. Hard. Well. Almost. I was about three inches off, because I fail at spatial perception, and ended up spilling his drink all over the wee little Katie's tits. She seemed to be okay with it.

2. A also, in between paranoiac texting of Sam about his apprehension of staying over, gave me the worst fucking gag gift ever and refuses to take it back. Let's get one thing straight: I love gag gifts. Gag gifts are awesome. I've gotten some great ones in my time; sex dreidel anyone? But I got, from A, a copy of *nsync's "pop" on vinyl. "I saw it and thought of you", he says. My real present better be astonishing, because wow, what a misstep. By way of contrast, Alaina got me an fantastic gift, a bunch of thriftstore books that look really interesting and my own copy of The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, one of my alltime faves due to subject matter. That's because Alaina is thoughtful and kind. Chip got me an Elvis Costello album, and Susan and Alyx got me an "Open" sign. Which was was very clever of them, I suppose. Mari got me an incredibly basic cookbook, which, well, let's face it, I could use.

3. I haven't gotten anything from my dad. I can't begin to list the reasons that this is depressing, and I know, I know, capitalismcapitalismcapitalism etc, but you're not me so stfu or gtfo.

4. Portishead came out with a new album! Holy shit. It's not bad, so far as I've heard it, and the first track is the most non-portishead song in p-hizzle's history. The album goes back to standard operating procedure about three tracks in but it's a nice switch-up for that nonce.

5. Oh! And I rang in 23 by sharing my bed with a 19-year old girl. I suppose that's better than the way I rang in 22- punching the air on M's couch and vomiting a lot- but still, of all the people that could have been in my bed? Lame.

Okay, S is here. Let the adventures begin.