No sex in the city. . .

Well, I’m back from my fabulous weekend in Chicago. I always forget how much Cincinnati sucks until I go other places. We’ve got what? A football team with at least one of the players getting arrested every week and noodles with chili on them. I’ve only been to Chicago a few times, but I can definitely say it’s probably one of my most favorite places to visit. I remember the first time I went there, I got shitfaced and then insisted that someone take me to see the house from Family Matters. I also once got shitfaced and peed on my living room floor and apparently attempted to flush the space heater, but that’s a different story.

Anyway, I went up to Chicago to go to my roommate’s fraternity formal since he couldn’t get another girl to agree to go with him. I like to refer to myself as Plan B. I think in the end, he just decided to find the closest thing with a vagina and ask them. And since my roommate Erik wasn’t here, it was me. The formal reminded me a lot of my own prom: the dresses, the dinner, the not getting laid part. If the night had ended with me lying in a fetal position in one of the bathroom stalls, spooning the toilet, it could’ve been senior year all over again.

All in all, it was a great weekend. I didn’t do anything too stupid, I don’t think. I woke up with my pants on both mornings, so that’s always good.