Well amigos, I'm off for a road trip, down through two states and countless miles of cow-speckled highway, to Clemson University, where Questicle will at long last glide triumphantly across the civic center stage to snatch his B.S.* before the registrar tries to take it back for extra verification.
We'll also drink lots of cocktails, toast lots of...toasts, and generally cavort about in a way that will allow me to pretend I'm still in college, aided by the fact that I'm staying at Questicle's apartment, which will either turn out to be the best idea ever or WORST IDEA EVAR.
Upon my return this weekend, I promise a full recap, complete with pictures and embarrassing stories of which stranger I tried to drink under the table this time.
*So true on so many levels!
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- I'm a twentysomethingish paralegal, married to an attorney, Lawyer Boy. No, I'm not his paralegal--but that would be pretty sweet. Yup. Why? Because then if he said something like, "I'd like this on my desk by 5," I could say, "Do you want that, or do you want dinner tonight?" Power in the office would be way more awesome than what I have at the office now, which is highly-restricted internet access.
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