{friday night germ party}

Tonight I'm blogging to you live from...

A public bathroom. 

Yep.

I've already counted all of the tiles on the floor and taken four hundred mirror selfies, so I figured the next logical thing to do was this. 

I'm being held hostage in here by a very sullen Sullivan who seems happy enough now but screams bloody murder every time I leave this oderiferous party room. I don't really blame him. We're at a football game, and the drunken throng out there is just a tad overwhelming, especially when they start pinching your cheeks and saying, "YOU ADORABLE LITTLE THING." (To me, not Sullivan.) (Just kidding.)

As far as football goes though, tonight has been fairly fantastic. We got box seats from Barclay's work which means, basically, that you don't have to freeze your butt off in the name of CFL football plus you can absolutely stuff your face for free. Wings and cupcakes and chili dogs and charcuterie and popcorn and cookies and tortellini, and all in a dark room so no one's watching how many times you hit up the table. This is the football that I have been missing my whole life. 

I mean, our team ('our', like I'm so into this that I'm claiming ownership) is playing horribly, and this bathroom situation is not ideal, but those wings more than made up for that. 

Anyway. According to the tinny-sounding speakers squawking the game into the bathroom, where Sullivan is starting to have a proverbial cow and I am thinking about getting one too, the game is over. We lost. And they've probably cleared the buffet tables. I see no point in hanging out here anymore. Public bathrooms gross me out.

So, so much.