I saw the Yankee tonight. My oblivious flatmate invited him to our kitchen for a couple of drinks, and he actually came. Does that mean he wanted to see me, or does what happened between us mean absolutely nothing to him? (that sounds a little more Mills and Boon-y than I intended. I'm not pining over him or anything.) Anyway, we all went off to another party, and we sat next to each other on the bus and had a little chat. But then I got all awkward and couldn't speak to him, so he probably thinks a) I hate him and/or b) I'm weird and socially inept. a) is false, b) is true.

I so would've fucked him tonight. I'm ridiculously horny. But no, I couldn't get my act together enough to flirt with him, so here I am at 1 in the morning, drunk and blogging alone. Bah.