I am seriously ill today; sooooo this post may not be as much of a sparkling gem. Partied with some friends in Bloomington last night, and about shit my pants. There I am, drinking my margarita, and the tornado sirens go off. With my chemically induced paranoia, a few fears popped to mind first, as I am not from the Midwest, thus unaccustomed to tornado sirens. 1. I thought jesus was coming back, and I’m like “crap, I’m wearing jeans, he’ll never rapture my ass now!”; that and all those gay jokes I’m constantly making about him and those 12 dudes he always hangs out with 2. I thought it was possibly an air raid, and the goddamn communists were coming to fuck us up. So I’m trying to pry off their crawlspace door, figuring with that extra protection, I should be totally fine during a nuclear holocaust. I bet I could hardcore beat some zombie ass if I needed to, though.
My friends assured me it was just a tornado siren. Laaaaaaaame. Honestly, if there were REALLY a tornado, I’m pretty sure I would hear it coming. Not just the wicked witch’s cackling, but everyone says it sounds like a train. No matter how drunk I am, I’m downright positive I would hear that shit.
Anyway, so eventually I took a ‘nap’ on their futon, and woke up about 3:30 with the realization I needed to go home. While driving back to uptown Minneapolis, I noticed the other drivers. Being way after bar close, all of the drunks were off the road, instead there were an abundance of methed out truckers. I can’t really say that much about MY quality of driving, as I was vomiting into a walmart bag in my lap, but I could practically see the blood vessels bursting in their eyes.
Ughhhhhhhhhhh I feel awful, and I keep burping up this vile mixture of mango rum, tequila, pineapple juice and pizza rolls. Who wants to make out?