here we go again

DAMNIT.

I'm on Easter break (as of 12 PM yesterday) and I already feel like a bum. I technically have a lot of stuff I could be doing... laundry, studying for Tuesday's midterm, working on Thursday's presentation, grading tests and projects, cleaning, working on my scrapbook (still haven't done the pics from last summer's Philly Phest), reading "The Turn of the Screw" for book club (I started it about a week ago, but then I put it down to read "The Devil Wears Prada" - awesome book!), downloading music, putting away my winter clothes... but I don't want to do anything. It's my first full day of break and I want to sit around and do nothing all day and NOT feel guilty for it.
I think it's because I'm constantly doing things all the time. I always have so much to do, that when I get some time to relax, I feel like I should still be doing something. If you'll recall, I went through the same thing over Christmas break. My life is officially a broken record.

I have nothing exciting to blog about. Those of you who are reading this are probably snoring right about now. My sincerest apologies.

Seeing as how it's a holiday weekend, I have nothing exciting on the agenda. On Friday I'll be making rum cake, dying eggs, making butter lambs, and helping my mother bake paska (traditional Ukrainian bread). Saturday we take the Easter baskets (filled with kielbasa, paska, eggs, butter lambs, and ham) to get blessed at church. Easter Sunday is church and family dinner. Nothing wild or crazy this weekend.

Last weekend, however, I went out two nights in a row. Two nights?, you say. I know, I know... I'm quite the wild woman. Friday night I met up with a group of people to celebrate Heather's birthday at Dangerous Curves. The drinking and hanging out portion of the evening was fun. The stripping girls, on the other hand... not so much. Seriously, even if I was a guy, I'd have thought that was boring. It was so... mechanical. Come out wearing skimpy clothes and crazy-high platform shoes. Shimmy against a pole, hump the floor, thrust hips, shake ass, toss hair, take off top... lather, rinse, repeat... then walk around the bar, topless, begging for tips. Not very exciting.

On Saturday, I went to what had to be the MOST frustrating Flyers game I've ever seen, and then straight to Karen's for her birthday party. Good times, as always. As soon as I walked in, Sam insisted I do a shot. She lined up a bowl of cinnamon sugar, a shot of vodka, a shot of apple juice and a can of Redi-Whip. I was instructed to lick my hand, sprinkle the sugar on top, and then consume the aforementioned ingredients in order, in rapid succession. And damned if it didn't taste exactly like apple pie. Crazy. After that, I sang along with two-thirds of UpFall (even filling in for Doug on "Trio"), played Asshole, watched Erin's dog hump a stuffed toy, and then eventually headed home. Lemme tell you, two late nights of drinking kicked my ass. I was exhausted all day Sunday. I'm getting so old.

Anyway, I'm gonna go find something to do for a little while. Later.