Well, for the last half hour or so my dad has been going on and on about how much my room reeks of alcohol as he goes around dramatically opening all of the windows in the house and spraying my room down with Febreeze. It all got to be too much when I heard him gagging in the other room. Moi? Smelly? C'est impossible. Okay, not impossible, because I thought it smelled a little bad too, but not THAT bad! You see, my dad has (for the million and tenth time in his life,) decided he has quit smoking. This lasts a few weeks, tops, and during these short but sweet weeks when our house doesn't smell like $h*t (although it apparently still does thanks to yours truly,) his sense of smell is heightened to levels that he just can't fathom when he's on the 3 pack/day regimen.
I did get a frighteningly large jar of booze last night in Ann Arbor. I couldn't help myself, I went to the bar to order something normal, and as I looked across the way I saw that this guy and girl were sharing (sharing is the key word here,) a drink out of the most ginormous jar of booze I have ever laid eyes on. I've seen people drink booze out of mason jars, nothing special there, but this was a pickle jar. I didn't give any thought to how much the drink fit for NBA players might cost me, or how toasted I would be upon its completion, I just needed that pickle jar, and by god I got one full of Long Island Iced Tea.
It was karaoke night, and I proceeded to sing "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks, after which the table of girls whose table was adjoined to ours (and who were also sharing (sharing) a drink out of a jar,) gave me slurred "good job"s and said they were singing along. I recall saying something about sounding like a man, but I think that assessment was only verbalized to my friends. As far as the drink-sharing girls were concerned, I was a confident young lady who may not share her pickle jar ( despite the fact that it came with two straws,) but was indeed the only female to stray from singing Disney songs with a BFF.
