Last night was Trixi's fabulous birthday party, and all the usual suspects were there (as were several unusual suspects, including someone you should get to know fast, as our mutual love for each other was further solidified by our fascination with High School Musical).
The invitation specified that it was going to be a fancy cocktail party (read: designed expressly for people to get fucked up), but I thought I could survive on water alone. So when I arrived, I grabbed a cup, walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a big glass pitcher of chilled water. I filled my cup to the brim and took a giant swig to quench my thirst.
I nearly choked to death.
Jonny soon informed me that it wasn't a big glass pitcher of water. It was big glass pitcher of Vesper—the gin-vodka-Kina Lillet cocktail created by James fucking Bond. It was strong as hell. It should not be called Vesper. It should be called Liver Cancer.
Perhaps inspired by the case full of Dr. Who DVDs that Jonny lent to him (curses to you, Jonny, curses!), Loren invited Joanne and her 18" radio-controlled, voice-activated Dalek over to the apartment today, and those two dorks spent hours yelling commands at it, like, "Dalek! Guard location!" To which the Dalek would respond, "Fuck off, douchebags, and get a life."