Wed to my Bed

Presumably in anticipation of tomorrow's 9th Avenue Food Festival, there is a porta-potty directly outside the front door of my apartment building. I can't even begin to imagine how pleasant this is going to be by the end of the day on Sunday, what with the hordes of people that come to the neighborhood each year.

Last night, MM and I downed several margaritas at El Centro and then continued on to her apartment, where we ate Nutter Butters, drank the hell out of a bottle of white wine, played Trivial Pursuit, attempted to find the saddest songs on our iPods, and purchased concert tickets (I completely forgot about the tickets until I checked my bank balance this morning).

Tomorrow night, I'm heading down to AC with The Lawyer to see Depeche Mode (which I also completely forgot about until I was talking with The Lawyer and asking her when I was going to see her this weekend, and she called me an asshole and reminded me about the concert).

JP and I are in the midst of attempting to arrange a weekend trip to Ireland this summer. We're anticipating drinking Guinness at the source and flirting with my favorite Irish bartender. Actually, the flirting part is just me - JP will most likely have no part of that.

I also need to: apply for the licensing exam, start doing yoga every day, and find a job. With all of this going on, is it any wonder that I've decided to cloister myself in my apartment tonight? My goal is to be in my pajamas by 7:00 pm.