Tuesday, March 19, 2002

Dinner Time

So, I suppose the biggest drawbacks to spending eight lovely days gallivanting around London with your long-lost boyfriend are a.) saying goodbye to boyfriend who you won't see in two months, AGAIN (ah the joys of the nomadic student existence) and b.) spending three and a half days sequestering oneself in the dorm whilst writing and researching a paper on knighthood in the Middle Ages. It requires a lot of perseverence, discipline, silence, weeping, whining, and unwonted hostility to your innocent roommate, but in the end it all shakes out. Now my paper's done and Christine is no more terrified of me than she was before.

But I don't regret it. NosireeBob. I knew it was coming. And now I get to go to Dublin on Friday. Yep. Life sure does suck.

I've had random lines from Braveheart running through my head for about a day now. Should I be concerned?

"I love ye, always have."

"That's my friend Irishman. And yes, if you join me, you get to kill the English."

Anything the Irish guy says, most of which is unprintable.

"Why do you help me?" "Because of the way you're looking at me now." [big sloppy kiss and ridiculous scene in which we're to believe that William Wallace has just impregnated Sophie Marceau with the heir to the English throne, which is, like, soo historically inaccurate because Isabella was so two years old at the time and...oh never mind]

Never watch Braveheart twice in three weeks. It sticks with you. Like oatmeal sticks to your ribs.

Christ, I don't even know what I'm talking about. I think it's dinner time.

"That's something we shall have to remedy."