House Font

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Sleepytime

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Potters Are Hot

Then again, everyone was hot. Potters are apparently also shy.

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My Hands Smell Like Basil

Lisa always seems to forget that we have a few herbs in the back garden. As I was supplementing her sauce-from-a-jar I said that I am jealous of Paul’s Mom’s vegetable garden with tomatoes and a forest of pepper plants (don’t tell them who ate all the spicy sweet pickle slices, holy fucking delicious). Anyway, Lisa said that next year I could probably dig up more of the yard to claim my own space, and I casually mentioned that I might not be here next year.

I’m a little sad that I didn’t join Paul’s Party Pad as the eigth and oldest Power Ranger, heretofore to be referred to as the Den Mother, or just Mom, but I’m not sure that spending six months or a year living with 22 year olds would really improve my social standing. Nonetheless, it was an opportunity to revel in adolescence.

It was only three or four years ago that I had thought to myself that I would be looking at houses “in a few months.” Then, life went tits up.

I must be slipping, I only took 120 pictures at the art thing.

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Don’t Hit Me In The Face With Your Balls!

This is a weird game.

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Merry… Christmas?

At some point in the night we played out own version of Bacchi ball, where everyone throws at once, and the tiny ball was marked by this snowman. The best part was seeing the snowman fly up into the air. I had no idea who was on my “team,” but it was super fun and stuff.

At some point I just clocked the snowman in the head with a ball. I don’t think that you’re supposed to throw overhanded. Ahem.

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That Boat Is For Sale, But Does Happiness Come With It?

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Sunset

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Exactly

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Take That, Liver!

Actually, my liver got the last laugh by teaming up with my kidneys to remove alcohol from my bloodstream faster than I could drink it. Mother FUCKER. There’s nothing like going to bed on a crappy self-inflating mattress pad while all sweaty, sober, and lonely. Don’t, and I mean don’t go look at the fucking stars by yourself out on a dock as the Mississippi drifts by, idly investigating the tips of your toes with waves like tiny fingers.

Later, Paul and Doni and I sat together, and that was pretty nice. We saw shooting stars and maybe a satellite. Then we all passed out, the last ones left alive. Well, everyone else had just gone home because somehow the drunken motivation had slipped away from the group.

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