Summertime and the livin’ ain’t easy.

It’s finally summer-y ’round here.  Thank God.  There’s nothing better than coming home from a 5-hour-long class (where, at one point, you compared a vein in your teacher’s head to the vas deferens of a dogfish shark…which will surely net you an F in the course) and just collapsing on your bed in the just-the-right-temp warm air.  Mmm.  It’s even better when you have big, billowy drapes to let down and watch dance around your room.

Apparently, it only takes a half a shot of vodka to make me that fun kind of tipsy where your jaw tingles a bit.  I just made my special take on a classic drink:  The Drunken Ninja Midori Sour.  Here’s a hint:  It involves absolut citron.

I’ll have to tone it down, I guess…it’s a bit too strong for an after-work drink.  It’s more of a ‘let’s get tore the fuck up’ drink…although, in that case, I make it with two shots vodka.  Mmm mmm good.  Maybe I got tipsy because I drank on an empty stomach, having eaten dinner hours ago.

Work today was t3h suck.  I had tons of work…which luckily made the 6-hour-shift (short, I know!) fly by…but it was so MUCH work, that I was late closing.  Also, I had a bunch of redneck children infesting my store.  In my fantasy, I took bats to their heads…but in reality, I just told them to stop running around my store and to get out right now.  RAWR.

Boyfriend called me today to tell me that he received his orders to go to D.C. this weekend.  So far, we don’t know if the trip is cancelled, but they sent him his orders ANYWAY, through a clerical error…or if the trip is back on.  We’ll know tomorrow when he gets off work.

If he DOES come, I don’t know how much hot sexx0r there will be, as I figured he wasn’t coming, so I didn’t skip my period (ahh, the joys of the pill).  I will be starting the day he arrives in America.  Obviously, my uterus hates me.

I’m thinking quite seriously of going on that Seasonale stuff.  I should probably make an appt. with a real gyno (not the school health clinic) to ask some questions and perhaps make the switch.  4 periods a year.  Hawt.

I’m out, bitches.