July, July!
July, July!
this is the story of the road that goes to my house
and what ghosts there do remain
and all the troughs that run the length and breadth of my house
and we'll remember this when we are old and ancient
though the specifics might be vague
- The Decemberists, "July July!", Castaways and Cutouts
Why I haven't done one of those huge summary updates since I got back is beyond me. Some combination of lethargy and alcohol impeded lj progress. So I'll just throw quotes and pictures into the binary void. Every picture tells a story, anyone? I think they meant real photographs, not drunk attempts at photography. Schpiel complete...
Ah. This day began here and traveled to Reid's... I believe it involved rape by Persian+alcohol, a copious amounts of Henieken, the inimitable Julian Borno (my brother in community service problems), and a very steamy bathroom. And like some many other times, Reid doesn't remember how he ended up in bed that night. We all know where he went the next one, though.
Oh, one of those many glorious moments in the basement. I can't remember who we were 'hiding' from, only that it turned out they had never been there. That made no sense.
At some point in the recent past, Dillon went off his ADD meds for about a week. This means every time you see him from then until he goes back on the drugs... he will be excessively drunk. Drunk to the point where windows and sunglasses will be shattered, girls will be told to shave their moustaches (I'm not actually sure he was drunk), and words like "Ratz" and "Eww" will be attempted in Scrabble. Which brings me to Cody, my partner in bringing Scrabble back into the lives of so many deprived children.
Hm. This was post-Scrabble, post-vodka, and post-Scott Hernandez. Shana and Rachel and Cody became friends, Jesse and Cody modeled... I remember little else.
A picture neither will remember. My mom has met Dillon three times. She probably still doesn't know who he is.
There really are no words for Nic Porot. He's half genius, half scatter-brained; half serene and half jumpy. Besides... how many guys have been anally probed by 16? Another basement shot...
This is probably from the same day as the picture of Dillon and Francois... but then Dillon was wearing that ashirt when I saw him today, so who really knows. The balcony is always a popular destination, isn't it? Fucking hot, though. Colette is at left, Luke is in the middle.
This is to the detractors of alcohol. That's it. Guesses as to who they are may be submitted as comments to this entry.
Reid returned from Michigan about a week after I did in a sorry state. Reid is addicted to cigarettes... he probably misses the whole purple kush and alc every day routine. This was taken after a good amount of liquor had already been consumed. He would later brave the 90 degree weather to walk down to 7-11 and pick up some Marlboro 100's. See next pic.
Well. This is fairly self-explanitory. Let's just say Alan, Vanessa's stepdad, would later ban her from coming to my house as he had just been regaled with stories from his sister about the wild "Frat party" at the house next to Elaine's. "They were peeing all over the lawn. I think there was a keg, Alan." Yeah, no words.
Yours truly after 3 tequila shooters with Shana and Rachel yesterday morning. Mmmm, a taste of home, eh? Yes, that was a claim to Mexican heritage. Maybe everyone should stop making fun of me and think of how many people are trying to shed their Mexican heritage. I'm like a levee here, man. In any case, we also had a nice bottle of champagne which Reid insisted was not only mediocre but foolish to take. Champagne is good for lunch.
Once upon a time, 8 Harvard-Westlake "crappers," in the words of Dillon, traveled to Deer Valley. They agreed what happened there would stay there. Needless to say, that did not happen. Thus I will set the record straight about what happened on this bed the other day. No I won't. I'll just create gossip cuz now you're probably wondering what did happen. But I leave on a somber note: Not everything is fun and games. Just be honest with yourself. If you love someone, you should just tell them... there's no controlling it. Hopefully it will turn out better for you than it did for one I hold dear. A parting picture:
Much love, Pedrito. I'll rail on MTV and pop culture and stuff later. In the words of Jets to Brazil, "I'll fidn some Scotch to wash it down." I admit I have failings. I admit I am powerless over alcohol. But when is enough enough? It never is; not in July