OK, now listen: It's not a goal of mine to do stupid things in my life just to entertain you people.

Now, keeping that in mind, I learned last night that one of my heavier blankets, when washed, is capable of breaking both washing machines and dryers.

Long story short, last night, there was a wet blanket hanging where my shower curtain was supposed to be, a steady dripping sound coming from the bathroom, and a clandestine run down the hall from the laundry room to my apartment, to avoid any legal responsibilty for the washing machine now stuck on 'unbalanced load' and the eight inches of grey dirty water within that refuses to drain.

I am a fugitive. The only good thing to come out of the whole experience was that I learned that the weird Russian chick down the hall smells tastily like coconut. I might have a chance there, as I've seen her boyfriend, and he dresses like he thinks it's 1985.

There's no accounting for the tastes of Russians.

I never even talked about New Year's Eve. I was in attendance at a party that was 85% gay, in the homosexual sense. It took place at the apartment of Sally's friend Jon, who seemed to have made it a point to invite every gay person in the midwest. In order to gain admittance, I had to promise to flirt with Jon's boyfriend Mark, who apparently has a crush on me (and all straight guys, as I later learned). This was fine, because a) it was flattering, and b) the guy looks like a young John Lennon, and hey, that's cool.

You can be sure that at parties where the majority of attendees are gay that everyone is going to have good hair and be good dancers. At least that's my experience. Am I wrong here?

There was only one potential chick for Sally, and Sally wasn't even attracted to her. I'm beginning to think that hot girl/girl action only exists on the internet and women's golf.

The highlight of the evening was the spinach dip. No, that isn't a metaphor.

I now have less than three hours to write a final I put off for three weeks. Argh.