What, after a month of posting every single day you thought I was never coming back? Trust me, NEITHER DID I.

But I missed you guys. Or I just really, really don't want to resume editing my last paper of the semester (coming in at 30 pages) that's due in just a few short hours.

(Yeah, it's probably the latter.)

So, last weekend was pretty interesting. Since I'm all about learning, and growing, and trying new things, I branched out and did something, for the first time, on Sunday.

I got someone's initials tattooed on me.

And he got mine. (First, of course. Because I'll get his initials, but trust him? Never!)

(Still reading? All except for my mother, who passed out cold? Ok, good.)

This was not a BFF thing, or a Romeo & Juliet/until death do us part kind of thing. More like a game of chicken. I fully expected him to back out first. (Oops!)

The night went up from there. I proceeded to get drunk at Fern's (thank ladies) which only served to help me uphold the title of BEST TABLE HOCKEY PLAYER EVER. (I only launched the puck off the table once.) Later that night, while engaged in a fight WITH THE PERSON WHOSE INITIALS ARE IN MY SKIN, a shirt was ripped and a glass door was shattered, because with any night that involves matching tattoos, Jamesons on the rocks, and Patron shots, it's pretty much a rule that shit is going to get broken.

(He's just lucky it wasn't his neck.)

And then we made out.

You could go ahead and write me a long, bitchy email telling me how stupid it is to get someone's initials tattooed on me, but before you do let me point out that this person's initials are just two letters away from becoming the name of Superman's father. See? You can save yourself the time - I have a totally reliable back up plan!

And yes, I have a good job (with benefits!), a new car (and an old car!), a great family, am ONE class away from graduating with a Masters Degree and a 4.0 GPA, and have seriously pretty hair.

I don't know how any of this happened, either.