So I ended up driving back to Sonoma County for further debauchery last night. My good buddy Jeff wanted to throw a shindig, but was having a hard time getting some good momentum going. So I did the unthinkable and began wildly mixing social groups. Work friends, high school friends, old stoner friends, friends of friends, and surprisingly, a good many of them showed up. My friend Tim's girlfriend's roommate Karen showed up, and I've got a little stupid crush on her, so I was happy that she showed up. We ended up going off to an old dive bar called the 8-Ball that has since been overrun with drunk ass college kids, though my recollection of the events that transpired is, you guessed it, hazy as fuck. I just hope I didn't put on a nice, revolting display of jackassery.
God I'm hung over. The word Friend has stopped making sense to me. My internal organs are wicked fucking pissed at me right now. I don't expect this to be the most cogent or interesting journal entry, but I gotta get this out of my system. So just bear with me.
Late in the evening a bunch of shitty, unknown strangers showed up, which in and of itself isn't really a problem. Sometimes a little bullshit is just the thing you need to really make a party memorable.
Actually, I don't really remember anything about the stupid party-crashers, except that one guy had built a Drinko board, which was basically like Plinko from The Price is Right, but with drink commands at the bottom instead of the moneys. Drinko was basically a piece of plywood with nails hammered into it, but I really thought the concept was rather inspired. Oh yeah, and there was almost a fight at around 3:00 or so, but I was so drunk I just sort of watched on in half-understanding awe instead of intervening.
And so, 15 hours after departure, I've returned to the womb of my apartment, both alcohol- and roommate-free, out three packs of cigarettes, two twelve packs of beer, and about $14 dollars. In all, a successful endeavor.
I'm talking to some friends who bore witness to last night's business, and they're shedding a lot of light on our little trip to the 8-Ball.
Jesus Christ. I totally forgot that I'm supposed to go to lunch and shit with my mom and my little brother today. Gotta go wash up in a hurry!
God I'm hung over. The word Friend has stopped making sense to me. My internal organs are wicked fucking pissed at me right now. I don't expect this to be the most cogent or interesting journal entry, but I gotta get this out of my system. So just bear with me.
Late in the evening a bunch of shitty, unknown strangers showed up, which in and of itself isn't really a problem. Sometimes a little bullshit is just the thing you need to really make a party memorable.
Actually, I don't really remember anything about the stupid party-crashers, except that one guy had built a Drinko board, which was basically like Plinko from The Price is Right, but with drink commands at the bottom instead of the moneys. Drinko was basically a piece of plywood with nails hammered into it, but I really thought the concept was rather inspired. Oh yeah, and there was almost a fight at around 3:00 or so, but I was so drunk I just sort of watched on in half-understanding awe instead of intervening.
And so, 15 hours after departure, I've returned to the womb of my apartment, both alcohol- and roommate-free, out three packs of cigarettes, two twelve packs of beer, and about $14 dollars. In all, a successful endeavor.
I'm talking to some friends who bore witness to last night's business, and they're shedding a lot of light on our little trip to the 8-Ball.
Jesus Christ. I totally forgot that I'm supposed to go to lunch and shit with my mom and my little brother today. Gotta go wash up in a hurry!