Oh Jesus Fucking Christ, this weekend was a blur. Is it even possible to nurse a hangover from two days prior when you drank the night beofre? Mainly I stuck to Schell's Dark at the Milla wedding last night. I don't think the body could take any more hardness after the Sailor Jerry/Vodka Lemonade duality of Friday night. Still, barely can get out of bed this morning. Just sitting around, Google Image searching for the chick who published the Duke Fuck List PowerPoint and listening to pre-Buckingham/Nicks Fleetwood Mac. Which is surprisingly fucking good, for those who are interested.
Sometimes I wonder how long one is supposed to party like this. It especially hits me when I go to a friends wedding and the majority of the guests leave before eight. And those guests were not the old lady silver fox set, but my contemporaries. Those wonders usually pass when I realize that those who leave weddings before eight are boring fucks, the kind of people who eat brunch without Mimosas and only get it on missionary except for once a year to "spice things up in the bedroom". These people never once considered screwing on a couch or in a kitchen.
So I guess for now I will keep on keeping on going like I do. Singing karaoke at a shitty VFW and making out in some random lawn in Uptown is much more interesting than antiquing anyways.