Clearly his teeth were bared
◊ Wow. I threw a successful collective birthday party last night. It kinda rocked.
I had eight shots of tequila. I don't know if that's "enough" or "too much." All I know is, when I find myself toasting to whatever we're drinking because nobody's creative or together enough to come up with something better, I am fucked up.
Overall my guests were very considerate:
-
They showed up.
They got food and alcohol.
They let me take body shots off them.
They let me lean on them (or slump on them) when I was experiencing unprecedented levels of drunkenness and could only remember the names of everyone on the porch and how to smoke a cigarette.
Skidmore let my friend Lily and I pet his abs. (All I can say is: Wow. I still won't jump him, but I will pet his abs any day of the week.)
They didn't break much, steal anything, kill anyone, or damage my car.
They left surplus alcohol with me.
When we were preparing for the party, they forgot to charge me for the bottle of tequila at Beverages & More and my purchase came up to $36.66. Obviously the goat-demons were on my side.
The goat-demons weren't on Owen's side, though. He chipped a tooth when eight ninjas showed up at my place looking for trouble and he beat them into the ground and saved us all. He did lose an impressive chunk of his front tooth and got little flecks of blood on the bathroom floor.
And it had nothing, nothing, nothing at all to do with Allie, who gets full cool points for turning "Barrel of Monkeys" into a drinking game.
Heh heh.
So now I'm bleary-eyed and achy and my head feels like an overripe melon and I'm afraid to rub my temples too hard for fear my thumbs might sink right through my skin into my frontal lobes.
And then I'd have brains all over my hands. Gross.
All I think I can handle in my fragile state is a shower and some clean clothes without cigarette ash all over them.
And a cheeseburger.
And some ice cream.
And maybe a tiny little sip of the leftover tequila.