11:45 p.m.: Leave Blarney. Almost soil myself with excitement at the thought of yet another Tuesday night with Kweder. Anticipate line.
11: 46 p.m.: No line? Get verbally assaulted by the douche–tool bouncer, as usual.
11:47 p.m.: Remember it’s a Seniors for the Penn Fund night when weird girl calls out: “Are you a ... senior?” Creepily smiles and starts to hand over a donation form.
11:51 p.m.: “Sure.” Run away. Expecting throngs of my peers to embrace me.
11:52 p.m.: No throng. In fact, no people. No peeps with whom to creep with...
12:07 a.m.: KWEDER!!!! Creepin’ Peeps still no–shows.
12:36 a.m.: Kweder asks why all FIFTEEN of us were asleep? After all, he’s “the one on pills.”
1:14 a.m.: Find weird signs that say: “Crackhead,” “BB Gun,” and “Nick at Nite.” Assume they’re remnants from Smoke’s new marketing campaign, targeting pre–pubescent drug addicts.
1:16 a.m.: Use as dance props.
1:42 a.m.: Throw my hands up. And then they stay there. And they stay there. And they stay there.
