Party on, dude.

Good lord, if I didn't know better, I'd think I was developing a social life. Just got back in from 2, count 'em TWO, consecutive parties. Did a hot, sweaty, 15K steady state down the club. Got back to the dock and I was so soaked I couldn't tell where my sweat ended and the humidity began. Went straight from stanky sweaty dock to stanky sweaty bar with crowd of stanky sweaty rowers. (The scenery was lovely, and I ain't talking about the fucking trees, honey. There are few things in this world more enjoyable than watching a boat full of 8 6'+ lads with glistening washboards and damp, clinging spandex come off the water heaving and huffing. It's a beautiful thing. And people wonder why I love this sport. Walleys.) Hung out with the lads, had a few beers. Drove back to hometown and straight to cast party full of lovely Shakespearean actors. Not as fit, but 10 times as poetic, so I'll forgive them. According to one, the great disappointment of his summer was not seeing me in my bikini. Poor dear will have to learn to live with disappointment. (Course, he doesn't know it, but I was doing him a favor. I'm sure whatever his mental image was, it far exceeded the actual product, so really he's much happier without me disallusioning him.) Had a few glasses of wine, flirted like a demon, and genrally had a cracking time. wow. It's almost like having a life...