My Weekend in Your Words

Before I begin, it should be noted that I requested that people turn in words for me to use in this post. They were posted in comments, IMed, emailed, or just implied — and they’re all below, every last one of them, underlined and in italics. Yes, I know they’re not all used correctly. It just so happens I didn’t do much biological engineering over the weekend. Sue me.


Friday
Aargh, Mateys! Friday was International Talk Like a Pirate Day, and while I didn’t talk like a Pirate or swab the poopdeck, I still needed to swill a pint or two o’ grog! To do that, it was necessary to go out. After all, only alcoholics drink alone. Like most fridays, The Jupiter had a pretty decent band playing. Wayne Mills, a local legend was in da house, and it was a pretty good show. It seemed like everyone but Susan B. Anthony was there, and despite the fact that Wayne Mills plays country music, a pretty decent number of them were doing some serious Van Eck Freaking on the dance floor.

I ran into former-roomie Michael and his girlfriend Carrie. They were doing alright, we joked a bit about also-former-roomie Ry’s growing extracellular matrix and enjoyed the the good ol’ southern music. When the band died down, Michael decided it was time for a midnight snack. If I recall the “drill” (pun intended) correctly, was probably shortly followed by naked mole rat time with Carrie. How those two don’t have little proteomics running around yet is beyond me.


Saturday
First off, the game. If you’d told me that we’d play that bad, it would’ve warranted a big ol’ “Are you strokin’ me?“. But, to be perfectly honest, Alabama really looked Assy. Seriously, it looked like Coach Shula sat everyone down before the game and fed them a big bowl of dumbass. Seriously, I think a steaming herd of Capybara with afrosclerosis could’ve beaten us. I didn’t feel much like going out after the game, which must have been a disappointment to some poor sorostitute somewhere whose dreams of infecting me with Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosises (a weird STD found predominately in frat houses) wouldn’t come to Fructification. Now, to be fair, I don’t pass any sort of blanket judgment upon members of the greek system, but if we want to be real honest there is a certain class of sorority girl (and I use the term “class” loosely — pun intended) that would like nothing more than to sleep with every frat boy on campus. At the same time. Every weekend. If this were the goal, I bet some polyurethane grafts would improve their biocompatibility a bit. But I digress… There really wasn’t much to do on Saturday so I didn’t.


Sunday
A plethora of things to do on sunday, almost all of which involved school, kept me pretty busy. I had to do laundry, to make sure that I had clean diadochokinesis to wear to school this week, and I also had to do a bit of tutoring. It’s amazing how much calculus one forgets over the span of a few years. Then you’ve got some people who assume “Oooh… he’s a MATH MINOR, he must know all sorts of stuff about Calculus and how to find the inverse angiogenesis of the derivative to a tangent line!” They would, of course, be wrong. It really wasn’t that bad, though, it started coming back to me and I managed to get myself recruited to help every Tuesday and Thursday. Luckily he’s a pretty cool guy. He’s on the Ultimate Frisbee team and generally a fun guy. After that, it was time for some late-night food and sleep.