don't you love her always

hooooo boy. does my head hurt. huuuuuuurt. this is the beginning of a whole new world of hangovers, i think. no longer does my stomach tell me what's up, but my head has taken control. my first headache hangover and i finally know what it's all about. i blaim it all on the sangria. stupid wine. stupid stupid wine. and vodka. and beer. blah.

furthermore, i have to work. i k now that miguel is going to take one look at me, and his little dread covered head is going to purk up knowingly. and that'll start the commenting. "you look a little... tired today rachel.... maybe even a little, i don't know, hung over?" of course i'll deny this, but it's hard to deny a hangover to a bunch of alcoholics. men who, quite literally, cannot function in the morning until they get their kahlua and coffee. so then everyone will be like, "oh, rachel's hung over." it's probably a good thing that i don't mind them knowing since they don't care. since how many times have i seen all of them wandering around, half dead, at an early call.

anywho. marissa and i failed. miserably. the only action i got was that of a lone hand in a place where a hand usually doesn't get without either MUCH more alcohol or multiple outings and that of marissa, sampling whether or not my chest tasted of vodka. she says it didn't. and all those grad students claimed it didnt too, although they were using their shnozer. go me. but i guess it's ok, because i got to see the look on former marissa's daniel's face when he walked in the door and realized that we were in his house. priceless. oh the vindiction of former sort of girlfriends. it's just funny.