Class act

It has only been eleven days since my last post, so I don't know what you're raging about, but I love that you're doing it in Spanish, September.

Joel and I are moving out soon, and while it feels like we're just jaunting off to Mexico and coming back, we're coming back SOMEWHERE ELSE! I've lived in Abbotsford for five of the last six years. All my friends are here. It's *sniffle* the end of an era.

With that in mind, I've been trying to let school take care of itself, and Joel and I have been socializing hard. This doesn't make for terribly interesting blogging, because we spend a lot of time sitting on patios and watching this hilarious video over and over. And then we come home and Joel watches hours of Lost and I remember that I have to learn five thousand Spanish irregular verbs by tomorrow. Such is life.

Yesterday, after I wrote my Spanish final, we took a break from our patio slumming and classed up with a little wine and cheese. Dave, our resident oinologist, taught us how to swirl and sniff our wine. He also taught us what happens when you leave a bottle too long that wasn't properly corked (the wine soaks into the cork, the cork crumbles when you try to open the bottle, and you have to strain the wine into a nalgene and give everyone cancer).

There was, of course, dealcoholized wine for the obviously or potentially pregnant among us.

It tasted like watered-down grape juice left in the sun.

There was also some suspicious home-brewed mead. It tasted medieval, and not a little gross.

I'd make a big deal out of what-all kinds of wines and cheeses we had, because it was all very exciting, but I'm going to just have to go with 'lots.'

Needless to say, the end of the evening gets a little hazy. I remember having several strong opinions about things, and also that Joel was my designated getter-down-stairser.