zenexistence

You know, I thought I had worked myself up to a pretty good tolerance where beer is concerned. Having said this, one might assume that this would be a lateral statement towards liquor, meaning that I could belt down a few bourbon and soft drinks and not feel too much.

Wrong.

I've had two liberally divided Jim Beam Black and Cherry Vanilla Dr Peckers and I'm feeling retardedly delightful.

I'm giggling at my cat watching me type. So apparently I'm 12. Or retarded. Or a retarded 12 year old.