If I had a soundtrack, my friends and I decided last night, it would sound like this:
"yeah, that chick was hot and stuff, but I really don't know, b/c I was really drunk".
most of my comments in a conversation run just like that.
today, i'm finishing a mural on my wall. Tomorrow, I'm going to my most recent addiction, "Art Sanctuary's Storytelling" at Molly Malone's.
I think I like hearing other people's life stories too much.
For the fans:
One time, years ago, Zule and I decided to go to Mexico for the evening (we lived in San Diego, so it was within twenty miles). We went down there and ran out of U.S. Dollars. The mood of the host company shifted dramatically, once we started using pesos. Just like a bad ketamine trip. So, after partying down dancing with Mexican ladies and gents in a cowboy bar at the very end of Revolucion, we went home. Sad news, we had forgotten to save enough money for the parking on the U.S. side. Dave just took off. (there is additional drama here, but Zule would kill me if I blogged it). Then, on the way home, Zule got super mad at me, b/c I ate a street vendor tamale and went back to being in a good mood. I will vouch, I did not get intestinal parasites from the tamale, it was delicious, considering it was probably made of dog or dead gringo tourists.