kaciagemini

*wanders into house at about seven in the morning*
Mom: "Hi, where've you been?"
Me: "Sobering up so I could drive home?"
Mom: "Oh, well that's a good thing I guess. When did you get in?"
Me: "...now."
Mom: "Oh. If you see a half naked stranger wandering around, it's my friend Michael. Get some sleep."
Michael: *wanders in* "Hey, nice to meet you."
Me: "Ditto. Bye."

That is an approximation of the conversation that just happened to me.

A couple more things that Zoe really, really does not want to hear about.
SERIOUSLY ZOE, DON'T CLICK THE CUT. YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW.

I have a new measure for how to judge if a party was good or not. If you find yourself trying to get ready to go and race the sun home and you have to stand in the living room and ask, "Does anyone know where my underwear are?", that is definitely a good party.

And in the realm of way TMI, I am so fucked out that, like, the entirety of bandom could walk up and fuck right in front of me and I'm not sure I could find the energy to join them. (I would, of course, film it though for later thorough enjoyment. And ask if they could pretty please do it again tomorrow.)

In slightly less pleasant news, I will not be wearing any tank tops for several days because I have so many bruises in inappropriate places that I can't remember who to yell at for all of them. Or any of them, actually. I was pretty distracted when I got most of them.

I'm going to sleep now. A lot.