This morning, around 10, I was sitting at my desk, settling in to a long day of work, when I got a phone call. And in that phone call, I learned that if you say "Flava Flav" like Flava Flav himself says it in The Flavor of Love, the day gets a lot better.
It's even better if it ends with a party for my friend who's (sadly) leaving my department (but I try not to think about that). At the party, there were Centaurs.
And Red Stripes.
And Tanqueray and Tonics. But only one of those. But I still took a picture. Because hell, if I'm going to show you other people's drinks, I sure as HELL am going to show you mine.
Also, there was Nuclear Cheese. I called it that because I seriously think that this stuff can survive an H-Bomb. I also think that under the right conditions, this stuff can be as dangerous as an H-Bomb.
And after the party there was ice cream, and chatting. Going to parties like this make me sad, because as much as I complain, I've really grown to like St. Louis. And I love my friends here. They're fun, they're intelligent, and they're gosh-darn good looking. I don't know what I'm going to do when I move to Akron at the end of July and I have to leave them all behind.