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01:57 - Saturday, Dec. 13, 2003
22:09 - Wednesday, Dec. 10, 2003
09:05 - Tuesday, Dec. 09, 2003
The snow is full on by 4:30. The bottom five inches of my pants are soaking wet and frozen. Nick and I are sitting in the back of the Bound bus, on our way to Target to buy coat hangers and garlard to make Christmas trees, teeth chattering. We can't even move our lips to talk, they're so frozen. Suddenly he pulls a fleece blanket out of his backpack, drapes it over us, and tucks it into the sides of the seat cushions. The passengers stare suspiciously. I mean, who does that?
13:20 - Sunday, Dec. 07, 2003 Although I didn't wake up in any better of a mood, I had no reason to, really, because what I had to look forward to that day was going shopping for a cocktail dress with some people from my volunteer group (they forced me. 'Let's do a Thursday night shopping spree! Yay! Bonding! Spending obscene amounts of money! Yay!) First of all, I'm a cheapskate and second of all I never wear cocktail dresses for very good reason, but, horror of all horrors, the trip turned out to be fun (and not even in the 'I'm laughing at all of you because you're stupid' way, but in the 'I'm actually enjoying this and did I hear myself giggle?' way). I ended up with a little strapless black dress that I normally would never don in a million years, but hey, it was 22 dollars as opposed to 130, and people were gushing when I came out of the dressing room. Dan, our token male, had the best fashion sense out of all of us. He must have snatched fifteen necklaces out of my hands at Claire's, waxing poetic about colors clashing. Anyway, so Andrew was over right before Lara and I left for the cocktail party (what, you think I'd shop for cocktail dresses for no reason?) and that made one more person who had to be around while I wore the dress. We were driving around with a bottle of wine with the cork floating about in it (nobody in our house knows how to use corkscrews, apparently) and within an hour of arriving, Lara was completely smashed, which eventually led to her throwing up in the bathroom, which eventually led to me driving her home and coming back, but other than that (lesson of the day: don't drink half a bottle of wine, two double shots of tequila, some raspberry vodka, and four cups of beer), this party was the opposite of the epitome of awful like the last one, which means it was great.
It really helps to know all 30+ people there instead of just two or three. Of course, I didn't join in the drunken pileup of dancing in the living room. (While that was going on, I was talking to the guy in my English class who wrote that my first story was sophomoric and pretentious. I have never talked to him before, mostly because he doesn't really talk, just sits in a corner with this seemingly knowing smirk, but we ended up talking for a half hour about our class and writing in general, slamming everyone's work etc., just like what Lara and I do at home. It was an unexpected intellectual window in drunken debauchery.) Adrianne followed me with a camera when I went over to sit down with some lazy comrades on the couch. 'Blackmail time!' she yelled. 'Stand up. Go like this. Sexy pose, come on. This is the beginning of Armageddon. First Hannah in a little black dress that she probably bought today, then she'll be getting married. But she'll probably be wearing pants.' When I came home (about 2:30) Lara was passed out in her room and Andrew was on the couch, watching late-night TV. I got out some cookies and Andrew and I talked until 4:30 in the morning about whatever the fuck came into our heads. Beers were lining up in front of him and I was just exhausted enough to mumble out whatever I would mumble out. The less thinking I do, the less worrying, the better I can express myself.
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