I’m still going through all the pictures from my birthday. It’s taken a while as much out of the sheer quantity of photographic evidence, as me being scared of what I’ll find. I’m still getting positive reviews from people mostly along the lines of, “Oh my God, I was sooooooooo drunk that night” and of the stiffness of the drinks that David had tried to report to me in the middle of the night when he grabbed me by the shoulders and with the horrified panic of a man telling me that they were drugging us and shoving us one by one into the pizza oven, he declared that the bartender was pouring an irresponsible amount of alcohol into the drinks and I had to be very, very careful as he attempted not to shake me in hysterics. Perhaps he knew it was in his best interest to cut me off, as the reports of who I did and did not make out with are also still coming in.
And then there’s this:
