Just don't go back to Big Sur. Baby, baby please don't go.
I, sires and madames (copyright Sara Allocco 2005), have had way too much red wine tonight. I went and sat in my parent's hot tub, looked up past the palm tree canaopy at the stars, and listened to my iPod. And marveled at how drunk I managed to get playing Scrabble with my folks. I haven't been drinking since I've been home and as a result my tolerance went to "reset". Eeep.
I am now in my huge bed, listening to musics and such, eating Jelly Bellies and hyperfixating on stupid things I have no control over. Or more to the point, I have control that I don't want to use. I hate being all adult and making good choices. But I am going to have to. Being thirty means knowing better, even if I pretend sometimes that I don't.
Fucking fuck. Now I am listening to "Me & Mrs Jones". What. More wine, my liege! I miss my friend Aram Monisoff right...NOW.
Check the Rhime. All the time, Tip.