It's no surprise drinking memories from my pre-adult years seem to all muddle together like Karkov and Ouzo. Though, there are a few favorite nights/days that I can recall with such vivid resiliency. With some lost and some retained I never forget my first year of college my mother was packing up the house I grew up in and was moving. I gave her permission to pack up the things in my room. During this time I would recieve a phone call twice a week from my mother because she had found a half full bottle of liquor randomly stashed somewhere that I had hid from myself while intoxicated. Behind the dresser, behind my radio, disguised in my bookcase, or under the bed, the more calls I received about forgotten bottles the more I became amused with the cleverness I had while shnockered.