I would love to say that in the past week, I've been on a spiritual journey in Morroco, finding myself and possibly falling in love. But here's the sad truth:

Thursday, Paul, Pat, and Steve came over and they were piss drunk and I chugged three wine coolers and got a nice buzz going on. Pat and I sat on the front porch and had a nice conversation about punk music and he said we should hang out more because he doesn't know many punk kids around here. Hmmm. Neither do I, Pat. Then, Steve drove them home and Pat sucker puched Paul in the eye because they were drunk and now, Paul has a black eye and a burst blood vessel. Nice.

Friday, Saturday and Sunday were more Rachel-like, meaning I sat at home and did nothing. Except on Saturday and Sunday, I worked. Sexy Eyebrow Ring Man came in on Sunday and I managed to not make myself look like too much of a nerd. Impressive.

Monday, I went to Ozzfest and found out how fucking annoying Chef Matt is when you have to hang out with him for more than five minutes. The bands were okay, but I had a less than entertaining time all around. Bah, humbug.

Tuesday, I hung out with Heather for a little bit and we made plans to get drunk and fuck with people on Grosse Isle. Rock on.

Today, I went to the beach with my mom, Meg, Lori, and Vicki. I got sunburned from head to toe. Then I went to Oakland Mall and got a kick ass pair of pants.

And that was my week. Yay for me.

Summer continues on at its usual slow pace and we've all decided that we just want to get back to school so we can get our senior year over with and get the fuck out of there.

And that, my friends, is that.