I am a DORK

So, last night I found myself in San Diego (or as Ron Burgundy likes to say, "A Whale's Vagina"), celebrating St. Patrick's Day. I learned a few valuable lessons yesterday. One is that I do NOT belong in a mosh pit anymore. Seriously. That time in my life has passed. (And the bastards broke my sunglasses. And I have inexplcable bruises).

But I also confirmed what a huge dork I am.

Allow me to set the scene: Holiday Inn Express in San Diego, I'm passed out on the bed. Becca comes into the room after a late night swim (bossomely achieved in Mission: Impossible
fashion), and turns on the television. I don't hear her come in, or turn on the TV. But I DO hear the music from Star Wars. Return of the Jedi, to be exact. The music plays while the fleet attacks the Death Star. The corpse that is my body suddenly stirs:

Me: I hear Star Wars.
Becca: Indeed. Now the true question is, which on...
Me: Jedi.
Becca: That's right.
Me: God, I am a DORK.

Then I pass out again. But I can recognize my original trilogy under ANY circumstances. Which kind of puts the brain cells responsible for remembering things like AP Biology, or US History, or my address, on the wayside. Most likely destroyed after the amount put down last night.

Good times.

(Yes, I am aware this is from Empire. Bite me)