I am worried that my roommate might give my cat fleas…

I’m not really, but sometimes, you just have to pick on the Casper.

So…Sarah and I have decided that we are going to do this. Now, I know, I know…It is silly and ridiculous. You don’t have to tell me, but it would be more for entertainment purposes than anything else. Besides, what do people that do this look like? Where do they come from? Does it work? Inquiring minds want to know.

Although, I am not sure how good I will be at making conversation with eight strangers for eight minutes each, because eight minutes with the wrong person can feel like eight years. But I do know that they have a cash bar and I figure, when all else fails, resort to liquid courage. That’s my motto. As long as I don’t have the same number of Rum & Cokes as the number of guys I have to talk to.

But the concept is interesting to me and it will probably produce some good writing material. And who knows, maybe I will meet the man of my dreams…Or maybe I will join a convent. (You can still have rum and coke if you are a nun, right?) Either way, heaven knows (no pun intended) that, I have met enough morons to be due for something…normal.

Speaking of normal, TNG so does not fall into that category. I haven’t spoken to him since meltdown number two in which he all but accused me of wanting to date his friend. I found it rather amusing that he had become so obsessed with this ridiculous idea, that he didn’t even notice the adorable island boy who was incessantly asking me to dance and using any excuse to touch my arm. And not subtly, I might add. Inevitably, the fun that I was having came to an abrupt stop when I realized it. He. Is. Paranoid. And not even about the right things.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: “Indoor Fireworks” – Elvis Costello