The one which contains Very Important Stuff kind of near the end

Monday, Nov. 06, 2006, 10:55 p.m.

I see it's fucking Monday again. Still.

Oh, I'm just kidding, I'm not in that bad of a mood. This is, after all, a four-day work week for me, as is next week, so my disgruntledness is kind of on Pause for a minute. Besides, my weekend was unquestionably rad, so my usual Monday Evening Bitterness is more like Pre-Tuesday Apathy.

This past weekend was the first one in a while in which I had no prior plans and was also not working, so on Friday night I decided to go absolutely CRAY-ZAY and drive about an hour up I-95 to ParisHilton Head, South Carolina. I'd only been there a couple of times before, seeing as how it is considered a Snobby Rich People Haven whose only real attraction is a sizeable outlet mall. Normally I wouldn't venture there, but about a week ago one of my cousins moved there from our Frigid Northern Homeland, so I had to go and welcome her properly (read: affectionately and, eventually, drunkenly).

When I arrived, Cousin informed me that she had discovered some fantastic bars within walking distance of her hotel room (hence, "fantastic" bars and not just "bars"), so we ventured out to see about a drink or seven.

We got to the place to find it nearly dead -- except, of course, for the bartender and few of your obligatory sloshed bar-trivia players. Deciding that our next course of action was to sit down and get going on increasing our Blodd Alcohol Content, we settled in with our frozen drinks and any shots offered to us by drunk men who wouldn't remember it within the span on five minutes. After a few hours, we had managed to lose the precise amount of judgement that anyone remotely interested in retaining their sense of taste would need to lose before seeing a bottle marked "THE HOTTEST SAUCE IN THE WORLD" and concluding, "I should definitely try that stuff."

The next few moments included:

- One drop of hot sauce
- Several dozen genuine tears
- Multiple mouth-flames
- A tiny shred of dignity which kept us from dropping to the floor and writhing in visible agony

The next morning, after showering and swearing off Drunken Food Experimentation forever, I itched my eye with the finger which had, eight hours before, held a single drop of "THE HOTTEST SAUCE IN THE WORLD."

It burned in a way that only child molesters and the Devil himself ought to burn. I blame America in general, for jading me to the point where I don't recognize truth in advertising when I see it.

This was sometime before the affection and drunkenness overlapped ... but not long before, as you may have surmised from the giant 190-proof frozen beverages in our hands.

This bottle is not, I repeat, is NOT fucking around.

Also of note: in Cousin's new apartment (which she had never seen before, as her company picked it out for her) (at least, I think that's why) ... there is a MIRROR in the SHOWER. We are duly impressed.

Saturday night, I went to see Borat, which was hilarious on a nearly sinful (well, blatantly sinful) level for many reasons. "The Running of the Jew" is one that comes immediately to mind.

What I'm trying to say is, if you value your ass, do not bring it to this movie, for you will laugh it straight off, while being simultaneously ashamed of yourself for doing so.

Holy fuck, I am tired. I would like to go to sleep, but I'm busy trying to set up my brand-new iPod (R.I.P. Old, Frowny-Faced iPod) and it is frustrating me almost to the point of booze on a weeknight. Almost.

Anyway, I am about to give up on the whole thing for tonight and just go to bed, but first, I have a question for all of you, and this is actually a very serious matter, so even if you nevereverever comment, I would like to hear from you if you have any information.

BIG QUESTION: Does anybody know of a college, university or specialty school that operates on trimesters and is not impossible to get into?

I ask this because if I find a school that 1) has a start date in March and 2) will accept me, I can get out of the Army up to 90 days earlier than my original end-of-contract date, thus effectively eliminating the possibility of stop-loss and another trip to Iraq for fun and sun.

Please help! And ask your friends! Because although the Army has been nothing but flowers and sunshine to me, I would really like to get out on time.

Note to self: Stop with the whiny begging. Shift unexpectedly to random self-portraity image, then run away.

Thank you and goodnight.