Party animal

So I went to a party last night, (squeezing it in between jobs)for a friend of mine who is getting an award of recognition from the Federation of American Scientists, as well as some prize in Tokyo for "researchers who make a particularly significant contribution to problems faced by cities", (previous winner Paul Krugman), and he was also part of a symposium held by the FAS at UC Berkeley on thursday. 

What a loser.

Seriously, when I hear 'Phd  in Chemistry from Princeton', I of course think 'slacker who went to a party school to get drunk and meet chicks'-right? I think they just invited me to elevate the tone of the event. Their friends weren't that bright either.

When I got home, I found that the cats had dragged one of my favorite socks into the litter box (to serve as a shit blanket?), and that the reason I couldn't wash the smell of blue cheese off my hands was that the blue cheese had fallen down my cleavage and was lodged in my bra. I decided not to wash, but instead to go to work today smelling of eau de fromage just to serve everyone right who can afford to get a massage. 

Yes, this is the mature work ethic that got me where I am today, in case you were wondering.

Thanks but no thanks

You know how the mutant father of your child who's forty years old and  lives with his mother and doesn't work or own a car or a driver's licence because of all those DUIs turns around and tells you that you should learn to live within a budget like him and that you don't know how to manage your money, and you're working four jobs to make ends meet?

Me neither.