Stories about French architecture or something like that

Tuesday, the 20^th

            O what’s up Devere Scholars, let’s sleep in until eleven.  Its ok, Aaron turned in his essay and took the test, so we’re all caught up on credits…not.  For some strange reason, we went to seminar at noon with Liam though.  He must be attracting us too.  As an anonymous group stated last night, “I would cook naked for him…bake him cookies…I am gonna wear my low-cut top and sit in the front row tomorrow.”  If all I had to do was get a PhD in mumbling, I would be taking Tripping Over My Words 101 starting tomorrow, and Rogaine-ing my chest on a daily basis.  But Liam, you failed to surprise me, I fell back to sleep within an hour of waking up…you are that boring, and your v-neck has to be straight out of the Brokeback Mountain catalogue.

            Moving on, the “frat boys” went to the gym today to continue in the spirit of our fraternational trip to Ireland, bro.  After 2 hours of 21 and sixteen protein bars, we called it quits.  Two beautiful dinner guests appeared at our door, and we ended up sharing a nice dinner.  Afterwards, the night got crazy.  Bingo in the states, sounds like a grandma thing.  Bingo at An Brog, that sh$t was poppin’ off.  Round 1, Dan the Man wins 15 Euros.  Round 2, Diane wins $15 Euros, Stephen watches.  Round 3, Jay wins 30 Euros.  135 Euros in prize money and team UCC wins 60 of it…not too shabby.

            After bingo, we decided to test our feet on the dance floor.  On my way out, I was clawed by a few Irish monsters…luckily I was saved…thanks.  But, as trend-setting Americans, we managed to turn an empty dance floor into a Mr. Johnson Special.  It’s 2:30AM now, Cecilia, we see you back there…Julian is a nice man…but sorry, we gotta roll.

            It’s around 2:45am, let’s sit peacefully on the couch and talk…o wait…boom…the door slams open and in comes the girlies, who stayed sober tonight, not.  Sorry Ali, but the story must live on.  Ali decides that in her most eloquent fashion, to run into the kitchen…Play at the plate…Ali slides into home…safe, and that’s the game.  If this were baseball, Ali, nice hustle play.  But it’s not, it’s the tile floor and Ali has just managed to clean it with her outfit…thanks gurl.

            Laura, this would be no fun if you weren’t singing Lady Gaga...Boys Boys Boys, well that was a give-away…and yes, it was raining, your hair is soaked.  Sorry your party had dudes with fire extinguishers, but I still would not go to an Irish house party, not even with Robert.  Mary, sittin' in the corner like, “WTF is happening.”  Its 4am, can we please go to bed…I am beautifully serenaded by the sounds of the girlies singing and recanting stories about French architecture or something like that…I dunno, girly stuff…peace.