So I'm sitting at Gstaad . . . alone. Stuff got tied up (not literally) and no one else could make it. Jeff, who throws the Wednesday night parties, is sitting next to me.

We're generally bitching about the group that is sponsoring the night's party and talking about how much more fun it was when manhunt.net was sponsoring it a few weeks back.

Jeff: So did you know that someone hooked up at that party.
Crash: Um.
Jeff: Yeah, in the bathroom. The owner Googled the bar's name and found this website where the guy talked about it.
Crash: . . .
Jeff: Yeah, I read it today. He talked about being on a team. The only teams there were the hockey guys and the rugby guys.
Crash: Um . . . yeah.
Jeff: I don't know if it was one of the hockey guys. How about you? Do you know if it was one of the rugby guys?
Crash: Yeah. It was.
Jeff: Really!! Who? Was it Turtle? Who is this Flash guy?
Crash: Actually, it's not Flash . . . it's Crash.
Jeff: So who is it?

Anyway, you see where this is going.

If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't get myself into situations like this. Of course, if I didn't drink I wouldn't get into situations like this either.

So I need to quit drinking and get a boyfriend.

Well, that's just crazy talk. So I think I'll head down to Splash, SBNY, Splash Bar, Splash Daddy, S. Diddy, or whatever the hell it's called and have a few drinks while staring at boys who won't even look me in the eye without sneering.

Expect a cool drunken post this evening.