-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
So tired. This weekend is Pumpcon. It follows.
solios got into town yesterday afternoon. He brought me harboleon prints! And as thanks, I made him sit around Drexel for a while, then we headed down to Factory after a stop at my place to drop off some gear. We picked up the Pumpcon shirts, which are totally awesome. Dinner at Nam Phoung, then drinking at Doobies. Too much drinking at Doobies, really. Don't get home until 0200 or something stupid.
So around 0700 my phone chirps. Then it chirps again. I think "Why the fuck is kitten sending me fucking text messages when it's hardly light out?" because no one else really txts at me. Then it rings. "Jesus fuck, if Andy is calling me at fucking 0725 there is going to be bloody Hell to pay."
But nope, it was Adam, "FUCK YO' BED!" "Wrrrrgh. Hungover!" "Come to breakfast with us!"
So I somehow managed to drag my sorry ass out of bed and actually ate breakfast for the first time in... ages. After hearing plenty of stories from both Adam and Sophy about the SFO crew, I gotta say that while we're more boring, there's something to be said for being mundane.
Gotta say it's good to see those two bastards. They need to move back home. :-\
And now I'm at work. Out of clean clothes, so I'm wearing Drexel IRT schwag, which is this awful jean shirt.. thing.. with "Drexel IRT" and the dragon logo stitched on it.
Hungover. Even less fashionable than usual. I want to sleep.