Sitting in a directors chair (thanks Sean) in my halfway furnished apartment, it's a New Year and I'm still doing the same shit. Sunday blogging watching movies made for theatre but reformatted to fit my landlords wall mounted 50 inch HD plasma. At your request, I will recap an unforgettable New Year's eve. The blizzard didn't stop my mom's boyfriend's compulsive gambling habit from accepting 10 dollars in trade for a ride to the casino in slippery arctic conditions. I arrived and couldn't wait to see your halfway drunk face. We got our room keys a la R. Kelly, and teleported to the bar and couldn't get drunk fast enough to hopefully kill the braincells that kept flashing my brain the day's memories of my father mechanically ventilated and you checking out all the other girls. Finally I'm there and I don't care. I sing along to one of the greatest 80's gay man duos, Hall & Oates. She's a maneater, mu-fucka. I try to sneak 2 booze drinks from the cart but there's no pulling the wool over the eyes of the Mo-Sun liquor gestapo. It was probably in my best interest. I wouldn't have served me either. Fast forward to the high roller lounge where our new friends are stoked to get annihilated with us and the drinks keep coming. I meet a new friend on my way to take a bathroom break from the boys talking about skateboards and whatnot. A very entertaining young-ish doctor that wants to teach me what I missed in anatomy 1, 2, and 3. I get back to the table in time for the ball to drop, scream Happy New Year! pound a sip of champagne, and go to our room. I think I'm grounded. I swear I'll never drink again if I can just sit in the shower with you allllll day. Pretend that I'm not leaving and everything's not falling apart. But, we have to go eventually and my dear we're still goodbye-ing. Oh, as long as you love me soooooooo.
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