Why Am I Typing and Not Doing Laundry?

WTF? I am still not posted on the NaBloPoMo website. This is no way to encourage me to write, guys. I was already a bit hesitant about the whole weekend deal as it was, it's just a kick in the teeth to not even make it on to the list. How am I supposed to get randomized, anyway?

C and I tried to go see Borat last night and got the smackdown. Apparently everyone in Boston had the same idea as us because it was sold out at three theaters until the midnight showing. I was somewhat ambivalent before about seeing it, but just knowing everyone else got in and I didn't made me determined not to miss the excitement and laughter. If I go into school on Monday and everyone is happily chattering away about how awesome it is I'm going to be pissed.

Oh, who am I kidding? They'd probably be happier with a Depardieu marathon than something as clever and original as Sacha Cohen.

So it's Sunday. Yeah. Work tomorrow. Sundays are Dumbdays. Usually they entail getting invited to dinner at my parents; we argue about what time constitutes "dinner time", my mother thinking noon is acceptable while I usually express my feelings that noon is acceptable for rousing myself from sleep. We compromise and I make the trek up to NH around 2. Come on, you don't think I'm going to miss a free home-cooked meal, even if it's technically still lunch time? Then my Dad watches football and I hold a conversation in Italian with my cat and C and I munch on snacks 'till we're too full for an actual dinner. We leave with full bellies, already planning what NH shopping we should get done before we return to the land of taxes. And in the blink of an eye the weekend is over.

Someone tell me again why all weekends are not 4 days long?