This is what a bad day looks like.

Stock market? DOWN. Anyone ever heard of a band called "of Montreal?" They played at the High Dive last night. Pretty good. Pretty wierd. Tommy said that they used Big Muffs and Swollen Pickles. If someone has the time to explain this whole hipster/indie/emo/punk thing to me, I'd like to know if the world has gone crazy or if I just have my head up my ass. If anyone wants to come down this weekend, Joe McCahill and Ben Johnson organized a barcrawl that starts at the Illini Inn at noon on Saturday. Ben fronted the money for 65 t-shirts and expects to run out (of shirts). Real estate appraisal final tonight. Woohoo. One down, three to go.

This is about as bad as it gets. 

Take a look at this. It's about one fourth full and it's been sitting in my room for about a week. Gross, I know, but also pretty interesting, too. It's ready to explode. The picture doesn't really do it justice, but it's under a lot of pressure. I moved it to the kitchen because I figure it'll be easier to clean than my room. 

I don't really feel like writing...

...so here's the best pics from the weekend. No, that is not LaPolla's grandma. That is Jinny with the cups over her eyes. Bah.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hey, where're the white women at?

Rain, rain, go away
Come back tomorrow and wash our puke off the driveway.

tomorrow?

As of now, the tentative plan for tomorrow is: BBQ at Barrydise -> Jolly Roger -> Sparxx flippies at Ben, Joe & LaPolla's -> Let's eat again. Food is good -> Barrydise dance party -> Bonfire -> Sweet game of Hide-and-Get-Some. Cindy's been gone a while so she's it first. Everyone should come down. Jesus, I feel like that girl who is always trying to make plans and run the show. On that note, if you don't come, we aren't friends anymore. Oh, shit. I forgot Katelyn, Caitlin, Katelin, Katlin is having a party tomorrow in Chicago. That's it, we're going head-to-head, Darlin. We'll have ourselves an old-fashion let's just see who's cooler-off. So, I guess I'll see you all on Saturday.

Joe made the sign with nothing but old crap we found in the garage. Spencer made the LaPolla skull. It is always watching... 

Hands down, the best way to learn comparative immunology is by consumption. Happy birthday! 

Don't shoot! I'm from Illinois!

Actually, for those who haven't seen the Doran's place, it's really nice. At least it was when we got there. (Just kidding, Mrs. Doran) And I guess I shouldn't have been making fun of Gary, Indiana, because the neighborhood was really nice, too. Hoffman was the only thug we saw all weekend. So, thank you, thank you to the Dorans for their hospitality.

I won't bore you with stories. Okay, I will. We must have thrown a 1000+ rocks, and at least 100 of those were at Will. We moved a 400-500lb burning tree into Lake Michigan. The dunes were cool. We took nothing but pictures and left nothing but footprints (and bit of vomit). Steph and J.P. spent the night and didn't fight (weird?). Here are few good ones:

Hoffman, Birthday Boy, and an 11 year-old merlot mixed with cheap beer and tequila. 

"Yo, just leave me here." 

Sorry. I had to do it. 

From left to right: Dr. Thomas Angelini and Sick Boy. 

Don't make fun of Sarah unless you want one of these. 

actually, that's lie. 

Free pack of cigarettes for the person who talks this guy into going to the Doran's this weekend. No, Hoffman, that does not include your homunculus. 

My bags were packed, jerks.

The accounting system at Scottrade was messed up for about 20 minutes today. It made it look as though I had made $40,000 in a single trade. That was a good twenty minutes. Needless to say, they "fixed the glitch" and I am poverty stricken all over again. Jerks.

bvvvvvvv... bvvvvvvv...

"Hello?"
"Mr. Boomsma?"
[Yes.]
"This is Chicago..."

Shit. What a city. I've always liked C-U and I've never really felt a need to get out of here, but that might be because, until these past few weeks, I'd never really seen anything else. By this time next year, I want to own a dog. When I wake up, I want to walk across the street and take that dog to breakfast with me. Then, while I sit and do the crossword puzzle and watch the passing impregnable hipster girls, I want an attractive waitress to feed my dog cups of ice water. After breakfast, my surroundings will have put me in such a great mood that I will forget how dirty our beautiful Lake Michigan really is and walk barefoot over rocks, glass, and dead birds and fish for no other reason than to sit and make perverted sand figures at its side. I may be naive, but I think the real world is going to be great.

On Friday night, a good handful of us went to the home of bottle smacking and ball grabbing, The Gator. Erich attended and even played a few games of pool without killing anyone or going to the hospital. I probably don't have to tell you that Tommy hit on the bartender. She was a tough looking, but sexy, Czech woman. Upon learning of her nationality, Tommy said, "Well, czech me out!" (yif T) And when he went up to the bar to close his tab, he said, "Czech, please!" He's a fucking riot, that guy, and we're going to throw him the best goddam going away party ever, even if the LA crew doesn't come back. Here's a picture of Tommy and his Czech mate:

"Czech, please!"