its now 551am. im worn out. my cheeks are sore from smiling, and my head is sleepy from drinking.
we drank and we asked each other why drinking is accepted in proper society.
we drank and we agreed that a man or woman who can drink a lot is held in high regard. we toasted after reaching that agreement and dranks some more.
we told each other that if we kept drinking we would find each other more attractive than we knew the other was
and i thanked yahweh.
we wondered aloud why our hippie friends , in some circles would be looked down upon by their illegal intake of intoxicants, but then she reminded me that most of them could also drink, and we remembered why they were our friends.
as a graduate of uc isla vista im ashamed to admit that i dont think i drink enough.
ive lived in ken laynes former home for, what, three years now, and i havent had a keg in my front lawn even once.
i promised her that there would be a keg in my front lawn at least once in ’04.
i always forget how good people look and i always forget how much i like them. i like clipper girl because everything for her is about twiceasmuch. one kiss turns into two. one movie turns into a lets-slip-into-that-one. visiting one girlfriend of hers turns into visiting two superhot girlfriends of hers.
and having a body shot or two ends up having ten.
and an impromptu pie eating contest.
somehow it was discovered that i had two perfectly good apple pies in my kitchen.
she was all, wtf you doing with two apple pies in your kitchen?
i was all, nothin.
so she went, how old are these?
which unfortunately is a good question in my house.
i was all, new.
one pie was untouched, a gift from my maid who left it behind after she cleaned and scrubbed my home. on a papertowel she wrote, merry christmas tony, connie.
the other pie was three quarters of the christmas pie that karisa and i barely touched after we feasted on spiral ham at her place.
connie the maid left a traditional apple pie.
the karisa christmas pie was a dutch apple from the house of pies.
clippergirl clacked her high heels over to the fridge, pulled out a half gallon of whole milk and told me she loved me.
i told her id love her back if she’d grab that big ass baileys jug behind the cream cheese.
six nineteen i dont wanna go to sleep. i just want to ride this nice little good thing for just a little bit longer cuz if i go to sleep then i wake up and if i wake up i hafta do all these things
we drank and didnt feel so cold. its fourty eight degrees in southern california tonight which is fucked up let me tell you.
and even though it was cool that she split so i could write
its gonna be freezing in there alone.
at sixtwentyseven in the mornin
who won the pie eating contest?
some games, friends, have no losers.