So it's paper-writing season which means I'll be updating this blog daily... if not hourly due to extreme boredom. I must warn you, the content will likely be inane, but at least your daily dose of Maggie will be more regular.
I went to a Christmas party last night. Why they held a Christmas party on December 2nd, I don't know. I mean, we're not even close to the 12 days of Christmas.
Anyway, it was 7 euro to get in, but I think Lady Luck had her arm slung drunkenly around my shoulder last night because man! what a night! The girl at the door didn't have change for 20 euro so she gave me 15 euro back. So then I approach the bar to redeem my entrance ticket for a free vodka something. I don't like vodka, so I decided to get it cut with Sprite (works best. and if you add grenadine it's like Shirley Temple's all grown up.) I guess Lady Luck hiccuped a little because the bartender heard "Sprite" and gave me... a Sprite. With nothing else. I know there was nothing else because he felt bad and gave me two Sprites. So I started out the evening double fisting Sprites. Merry Christmas, ah to me.
Luckily, one of my other friends felt bad and bought me a rum and coke. He is now my best friend, and my ultimate plan for my last few weeks here is running smoothly.
But it was a good party. I mean there were decorations, snacks, Santa hats, plenty of Ho-Ho-'Hoes, and a giant blow-up Santa who was somehow walked around and gave out Jell-o shots. That Mariah Carey song about "All I want for Christmas is You" came on twice, along with a Grease medley and numerous Michael Jackson songs. What more could you ask for?
As the bar closed down and we supported my friend out the door, the general consensus was to head to The Classic for the rest of the night. The Classic is a club. I'm not really into clubs. I wanted to go to The Brogue, just like every other night and sit in familiar dinginess, listen to hard rock and metal, and scan the crowd for cute boys.
But everyone was on their way into The Classic. So the new Maggie (who is really the old Maggie who has just gotten her groove back) decided to just go to the Brogue anyway, and as I sauntered down the street with two friends who had (luckily) been turned away at the door (for alleged drunkenness), Lady Luck and I clinked martini glasses.
The rest of the crew eventually saw the light and ended up at the Brogue as well, and thanks to myself and my imperceptible comrade of fortune, we snagged the couch seats (which are not as bouncy and cushy as the purple velvet makes them appear as I unfortunately found out by flinging myself upon it). And the night was fantastic. And at the end of it, I found 2 euro which is similar to finding 5 dollars. No joke.
Oh, and to those of you who have been following my personal life on more conversational terms, essentially, I went back last night. (Codespeak that I'm sure even the Navajo Windtalkers couldn't crack.)
For now, it's back to the grindstone. Back to the paper writing and the reading. Back to dealing with the University of California Public School system. Back to faxing and searching, emailing and planning. And tonight when I go out, I'll lean myself up against the bar and when the bartender asks "What'll it be Miss?" I'll sigh and say "Smitty," "Smitty," I'll say, "gimme something to dull the pain of dealing with the bureaucratic filth that invades our souls, minds and hearts and slowly chips away at our resolve and destroys our desire to rise above and to choose until we've become nothing more than zombies, molded like all the others and all those who came before to follow and act with no resistance and to allow the cycle of oppression and subjugation to continue in this Orwellian world. Hm? Oh, sorry. I'll take a rum and coke. And if you make it Old Jamaica, I won't say no."