we don't live here anymore

It's been an interesting couple of days. Went to Birmingham last night for a concert, had a good time there. It's been good to see what sometimes things do turn out okay. While I was in the Ham, Bexxx put a couple temporary tattoos on me, a Lovebirds one on my wrist (which is awesome) and a shark on my bicep (which makes me feel like a tool). It's okay though. Today I somehow managed to cut myself in two different ways - first by beefing it over a fence, which cut open my fingers, and second by somehow cutting a line into my wrist like I'm trying to commit suicide - no idea how this one turned up but I'm bleeding all the same. Today I went and fed the ducks at school with Holly, and I remembered how much those filthy birds managed to be cute and disgusting at the same time. It makes you wonder how they get along without people to feed them.

This shark tattoo makes me feel like a total fucking tool. I think I want a Corduroy tattoo somewhere. Anybody remember that book? It was my favorite children's book consisting of 100 words or less.

I've decided I should tell stories of my drunkenness on this blog, as it is only proper. I'll begin with my earliest memory of it. A couple weeks after I started college, when I was but a wee freshman, a couple guys named John and Tony threw a party to introduce the young'ins to boozin', and they had hunch punch. It was my first taste of that vile liquid, and my only memories of the party consist of my throwing up over their balcony, then vomiting on my hands and knees in the parking lot. After that, I threw up a little bit out of my friend's car window, and then a large redheaded man named Parker carried me into my dorm and threw me into bed, where I proceeded to throw up some more.

A couple weeks after this, the girl across the hall saw me and asked me if I was the one she saw being carried into the dorm a while back. She happened to be in my English class, so what could I say but "yeah, a large redheaded man dragged my carcass into my room the other day, where I proceeded to strip down and go to bed in my roommate's bed, and not realize it until he walked in and finally went 'man what the hell'?" Sure, that's what happened.

I can't wait till next year, I am going to be that party.

Now though, I'm kind of tired of my skinned knuckles and my uncertainty. I miss the game we used to play.

I think my drinking stories are better when I tell them in person, en voce if you wish. I guess we'll find out for sure next time when I tell another one. Right now I just remembered how happy I was in that picture you have of me, how my smile was unfeigned and true, and how lucky I felt to be in that moment.

I also remembered how I promised you I'd link you to this blog if I ever made a funny entry, and I guess that is the closest I'll get. Maybe I'll write another funny drunk story for you, but I think I told you all my funny drunk stories that one time on our date, when I was trying to be heartwarming and hilarious. Did it work? Hard to tell.

Hard to tell. Drunk blogs are still terrible ideas.