Why do I drink?
Seriously, why? Whhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?
Orchid had a gentleman caller last night. He didn't know about the "placate the roomate" ritual, where you bring them an offering, usually vodka, to sedate them and make them docile so that they don't start shouting and pounding on the floor/ceiling when you're, well, you get the idea. Ignorance is a sad thing, particularly when it means a Dreva has to pay for the vodka herself. Which she did. To be fair, since she paid for it herself, she drank it herself. The whole bottle. Feeling bad about having poured too much of the bottle into her stomach, she tried to pour some back out. Wanting to make sure she did it right, she spent an hour or so hunched over the "Epicurean Bucket." Mind you, the conversation she was having with Ralph on the big white phone (okay, not *technically* accurate here, but I like the phrase) did do a lovely job of drowning out what she believes was the second and third instances of not doing anything (she was making out with a charming Russian for the first.) But the two times in the morning. Hungover Dreva. Noises. Sober Dreva doesn't like noises. And I...she couldn't find her sunglasses.
I finally went down to make breakfast and see if putting something in my stomach would make me feel a little less like a wolverine had crawled down my throat and was giving birth in the neighbourhood of my precious internal organs. As I crawled about the kitchen, I noticed Orchid's gentleman caller making his ungentlemanly escape. You can tell because they're carrying their shoes. Anyway, I felt it was my roomately duty to make a halfhearted attempt to delay him, so I fed him breakfast. Pancakes and hash browns. And I had my revenge for the noise! I gave him the one slightly scorched pancake. I'd mention his name, but I don't feed and tell.
My stomach no longer feels as though...yeah, the wolverine thing. But my head hurts, and light is painful. And sound. Why would it betray me so? I have always been good to it! I think I am going to wrap this up and go wash my face, where I shall hope I drown.
Orchid had a gentleman caller last night. He didn't know about the "placate the roomate" ritual, where you bring them an offering, usually vodka, to sedate them and make them docile so that they don't start shouting and pounding on the floor/ceiling when you're, well, you get the idea. Ignorance is a sad thing, particularly when it means a Dreva has to pay for the vodka herself. Which she did. To be fair, since she paid for it herself, she drank it herself. The whole bottle. Feeling bad about having poured too much of the bottle into her stomach, she tried to pour some back out. Wanting to make sure she did it right, she spent an hour or so hunched over the "Epicurean Bucket." Mind you, the conversation she was having with Ralph on the big white phone (okay, not *technically* accurate here, but I like the phrase) did do a lovely job of drowning out what she believes was the second and third instances of not doing anything (she was making out with a charming Russian for the first.) But the two times in the morning. Hungover Dreva. Noises. Sober Dreva doesn't like noises. And I...she couldn't find her sunglasses.
I finally went down to make breakfast and see if putting something in my stomach would make me feel a little less like a wolverine had crawled down my throat and was giving birth in the neighbourhood of my precious internal organs. As I crawled about the kitchen, I noticed Orchid's gentleman caller making his ungentlemanly escape. You can tell because they're carrying their shoes. Anyway, I felt it was my roomately duty to make a halfhearted attempt to delay him, so I fed him breakfast. Pancakes and hash browns. And I had my revenge for the noise! I gave him the one slightly scorched pancake. I'd mention his name, but I don't feed and tell.
My stomach no longer feels as though...yeah, the wolverine thing. But my head hurts, and light is painful. And sound. Why would it betray me so? I have always been good to it! I think I am going to wrap this up and go wash my face, where I shall hope I drown.
posted by Cecilia Weatherby at 12:00 PM
9 Comments:
Even though Vodka and I have had a bad past...
I still like it. ... Alot.
Though, I'd word it as 'a cheshire trying to escape it's carrying thing when it knows its going to the vet.'
you should hoot and holler back next time they make so much noise! or invite all your friends over to make fun of them while they do it.
Even I would have come over for that kind of entertainment. *smirk*
Hey, Cap'n, when I was in my pants-buying time, I saw some kids jump on a car parked at a "make-out" point. Like 20 of 'em. Dunno why they call 'em make-out point though. Conception point would be a better phrase.
Conception doesn't happen that often. Infact, it's only happened once for me. So maybe it really was named correctly.
Why do bad things happen to good pancakes. *sigh*
I think it's karma. They were EVIL pancakes in past lives.
No matter. Sure it's nothing that can't be fixed with a good measure of honey.
I love me some nice, creamy honey.
Ranmaru has some delicious honey... He gave me some just the other night. It was fantastic. A bit sticky, but great.
Post a Comment
<< Home