It's been about twenty-five minutes since I have come back to school and I'm already back to people-watching. There is a gigantic man in front of me with a shirt that says 'ENOUGH SAID'. This shirt is hiked up to his upper-middle back because of his fat lethargic slouching. Enough said indeed, sir. Perhaps too much.
St. Patrick's day was a good time this year. Nothing wrong with a little Stereotyping O' the Irish. I volunteered to be the Designated Driver the day before and was told to meet up with my mates at 11 A.M. People familiar with my sleep schedule can recognize this as a classic Dick Move. So I was exhausted all day and ended up falling asleep at some ridiculous time for a drinking holiday, like 9 P.M or something. Embarrassing. Boy were my ears burning. I didn't even drive that much. But my mates got me a beer and some sort of authentic boar bratwurst that tasted like any ordinary hotdog (read: perfectly good) AND a badass shirt, so I certainly can't complain, or shouldn't anyway.
Now the same mates and I are engaged in a competition to stay sober and lose weight for thirty days. It's kind of like Super Size Me, only the exact opposite and not entertaining at all. We were supposed to have a collective bet on it, but I refuse to participate in that aspect because I am incredibly broke, and there isn't even an intelligent form of regulation for this. We're apparently basing it off of actual pounds lost, despite the fact that some of the contenders are clearly fatter. I think halfway through the competition I'll fake a breakdown and spend the rest of the time developing a taste for hard alcohol and fast food. In front of them.
Loudly.
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