Next week we have to go to a summer formal with Mark’s professors and other staff, and neither he nor I particularly want to go. I don’t want to go because it will be incredibly stuffy, and everyone will talk about physics and math and the best pen-guards and whether the radiactive glow in CERN’s tunnels is suitable to date in.

Since it’s a formal, I have to dress up in a dark suit and a tie and I’ll be uncomfortable. I’ll drink too much, and I’ll try to sing lewd songs to liven things up, and I’ll make a total fool of myself – and in extension Mark and we’ll never be invited to anything again. Hmm, I didn’t think of that. Maybe I should bring my guitar along…

Okay, maybe it won’t be that bad, but I’m not looking forward to the suit and tie. And I don’t know anyone there, and I probably won’t be able to talk about books with anyone, unless it’s Ayn Rand or Raymond Kurzweil or Stephen Hawking. I can’t stand Rand; Kurzweil fosters the same intense extremism in people except it’s about digitizing people instead of things; and well Stephen Hawking goes over my head.

So, they’ll think Mark married an idiot, and I’ll get drunk, and I’ll sit in a corner and sulk, and people will think Mark married a boring person. Sigh, I don’t want to go. I suspect Mark doesn’t either. But it’s kind of an important formal, and Mark need to network with people, and I have to look pretty on his arm so that they’ll think he’s this respectable type. Haha, yes, such a joke. 🙂

Why is it that adult people don’t party to get absolutely sloshed out of their silly little minds and throw food at each other and have, you know, fun? Whoever married their job and opportunities with partying should be made to write “Parties should be fun, not a chore” on the blackboard a thousand times.

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