deckwreck

Boys and girls, the end is nigh. As of today I'm 21 years old. May god have mercy on my soul.

Last night was fucking cool. I recieved a call from my roommate Kyle while I was at work.
"Dave, we're going out tonight! Be home by eleven!" "Where are we going?"
"It's a suprise!"

At this point I'm thinking, ahhh fuck, what the hell are my roommates going to do to me tonight. I was a little scared.

So I get home from work, get dressed, and we go. We ended up at Cafe Tu Tu Tango. My friend Kym is a manager at Tu Tu Tango. My friend Kym is also a belly dancer. Last night Jermaine Dupree rented out Tu Tu Tango. For a private party. So, on the eve of my 21st birthday, I got to go to Jermaine Dupree's private party, watch my absolutely smokin' friend Kym belly dance, and drink for free all night. It was fucking awesome.

My last illegal drink was a bottle of Samuel Smiths Oatmeal Stout, which is probably my favorite beer in the world.

My first legal drink was a very, very large shot of Jameson's Irish Whisky, which is probably my favorite liquor in the world. At midnight, Kyle, Ronnie, Stephen and I all did a toast. It was great.

I then proceeded, over the course of the evening, to have another of those, two shots of Jager, and a large, large shot that was (for some reason) half Wild Turkey and half Jim Beam. That one hurt.

I danced for a while with my friend Paige, which is a testament to how drunk I was; I can't dance for shit, especially to booty music. All I can do is my own version of the hipster retard dance, which I bust out liberally because, frankly, I don't give a fuck.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes, y'all. Sorry this entry wasn't more interesting, but I was woken up this morning by a rash of phone calls and I'm still pretty drunk. I expect this trend to contiue for the next two days.