10: Number of minutes (X 7) spent on the Star Alliance website creating an around-the-world plane ticket itinerary. Whoops.
9: Estimated number of times I asked the DJ to play the song Conga by Miami Sound Machine on Friday night. Hard to believe I was unsuccessful at this, really.
(why yes that is Gloria Estefan circa 1984, thanks for asking).
8: Number of cities added to my (fantasy?) around-the-world plane ticket itinerary. Tokyo? Phuket? Marrakech? Rio de Janeiro? Barcelona? Anyone? Anyone?
7: Number of pre-10 a.m. texts in a row without response received from Star Bar attendee whom I naively agreed to exchange numbers with after he told me he was a “screenwriter.” Just as I am a “blogger.”
6: Number of plans sketched out on and friends disappointed, seemingly. I could blame my perpetual flakiness on being soincrediblypopularandall, but it more likely stems more from my constant overcommitment and unrealistic belief in my own ability to teleport between social engagements.
5: Number of pounds of bacon-laden macaroni and cheese I desired to consume in the suite at the UT game on Saturday. Thank you LES.
4: Number of times i thought about my [loud] yoga challenge proclamation on blog and shuddered at such an embarassingly public demonstration of a commitment handicap.
3: Approx number of minutes of spastic bliss experienced while the Footloose song played at Molotov.
2: Number of redbulls consumed at Star Bar. Of all my bad habits, my penchance for consuming redbull at midnight must be one of the worst. #internalorganfail.
1: Number of times I experienced the pure unadulterated joy of incorporating discussions of Moby Dick whilst tailgating.
0: Number of glow bracelets found in bed over weekend. If you only knew what a rare occurence this was, you would be very proud of the marked progress toward maturity and overall adulthood that such an accomplishment represents for me.