You know what sucks about having a super epic weekend?

The fact that super epic weekends are pretty hard to top, and I spend the next weekends whining about now unepic the current weekends are.

Last weekend was, possibly, the best weekend I'll ever have in my life, unless Art Alexakis decides to mosey his cute little behind over to my house. It involved a decently famous comedian (if you're my facebook friend, I'm sure you can figure it out), some of my favorite friends, a comedy club in Syracuse, spontaneous dance parties, Fruit Roll-Up drinks, throwing vodka at a bartender, watching a man throw himself onto the ground, cat-ear party hats, rape tunnels, and an awkward morning in front of outstanding members of a cheerleader's convention.

Yeah.

So, I'm coming off of this pretty sweet "I blankedyblanked a decently famous person" high and I tried to go out last night and have some fun and... I couldn't. I hated the bar, I hated the patrons (aside from my friends), I hated standing and pretending that THIS was a good time when I know what a real good time actually is. And so I stamped my pretty little feet and whined and went home. I'm going to try again tonight, but chances are I've ruined all future weekends.

Oh well, it was totally worth it.