Despite the gloom-and-doom* of last week’s post, this week has been remarkably uneventful. Not good, not bad, just… there.

There were good things that happened: I weathered my first corporate function (a birthday party) without shaming myself too badly. I’m baking brownies in a cast iron skillet. I watched the last three episodes with the Tenth Doctor on Doctor Who and cried disgusting snot tears. I considered re-reading Ender’s Game, but decided not to on the grounds that I had already cried too much for one weekend, in the good, cathartic, prompted-by-TV kind of way.

(Seriously, though, readers: is there anything that could have predicted my anthropology degree quite so well as my absolute, shuddering sobs when I got to the “the aliens are only trying to save their babies, and the humans didn’t understand” twist at the end of that book? No. No there is not.)

Some bad things happened, though they were mostly of the embarrassing kind: I sat next to someone in class and was ignored, probably unintentionally. My coworkers teased me for being young and I was embarrassed. I spent too much time in bed and not enough time out doing interesting things. Nothing catastrophic. It’s perhaps a sign of my impeding adulthood that I was–even in the midst of these things–able to say to myself, “You are having a case of the embarrassments  It’s okay. It will go away soon.**” I would have collapsed in a middle school way with this last year, I think.

So in light of the boring satisfaction of the last week, I will tell you the one notably funny thing I saw this weekend. On Friday night, I went to a bar with a few friends. As we were leaving, we saw a cluster of boys walking away from us. Facing away from us as they were, it was particularly noticeable that they were all wearing the same outfit: khakis and black fleece jackets. We giggled (because bar), and climbed in. On the way home, we saw no fewer than three other clusters of boys, all dressed identically. One group had skinny jeans and leather jackets, another hoodies and non-skinny jeans. Closer to campus we saw a group in which each member was wearing university t-shirts. And by the time we got to my friend’s apartment, we could not stop laughing–and checking that we were not, in fact, dressed all alike.

And that was my weekend. I leave you with this Watsky song, which I have been playing on loop since, oh, last Wednesday. I can’t stop.

* Nearly typed that “glom and doom,” and good lord it has been 10 years since I used “glommed.” So strange.

** A tip pulled from a Jen Dziura column, though I no longer know which.