July 11th, 2005

(no subject)

I've met some people here in my new city of San Fran, and yes, we've had some minor adventures together, but I'm not sure I'd so far as to call them my friends. I get along with them, and they feed me alcohol like they feed their bong with weed. But for the most part I am easily bored by them, and I go home early while Ani stays out and parties with the boys of her element until 3AM. I don't mind; I'm happy she's happy, but I'm just sitting here distracting myself until something I can really get into comes along and I no longer feel like I am just settling for lack of anything better to do. They're not so bad, they're just not for me. Observe:


Our night begins like any other. Give me a Bic pen and a few shots of Tequila and you should literally watch your back.


The best part of this photo is not the fact that my Bic pen started to die and I was hammered, seriously decreasing the quality of the butterfly I drew in the small of a thug-wannabe's back, but what I was holding onto throughout the process.


Hippie.


My outrageously hot roomate and Matt, who are currently and quickly enjoying hefty portions of each other.


At the bottom of our 5th, there was a fermented worm conveniently waiting to be eaten by the lucky drinker who was fortunate enough to pour it into their drink. Seeing it before the bottle was even opened, I swore on getting that worm, and so I made sure everyone drank up fast and that I was the one pouring the second-to-last shot that the worm came spilling out into. Excited, I ditched the shot, figuring that after this worm I wouldn't need it, and to everyone's surprise, popped the two-inch-long worm into my mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed. Anyone in the 802 will tell you that I have no fear when it comes to eating bugs. Apparently it is a legacy in some countries, and in some bottles of foreign liquor such as this one we had polished off. Thirty minutes following this moment is when my night starts to get seriously blurry.