Manet alta mente repostum.

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.

Vamoose.

I have absolutely no idea what these three are up to but, I have a feeling it might involve, well-crafted boomerangs, NASA, tailgating, negotiation, and a colossal heap of rum and then ends somewhere along the SAFE Port Act and money laundering. No worries though, the guy in the denim is a lawyer.

Coterminous.

I usually despise dairy cohorting around with my liquor though this holiday season I do think a White Russian ought to be near-at-hand.
It seems like a suitable substitute when eggnog is no where near your delicious delight classification. As long as no rugs are soiled and no one ruins Christmas with their drinking problem I suppose all is well.

Batty.

Someone needs to do something about these Kanye glasses and the escalating fascination idiots tend to have with them. If it does not get taken care of soon it's not too long before we start seeing these things being sold in kits including roofies and frackets at every convenience stop in town.

Comity.

It's terribly refreshing to see a group of girls supporting each others passions and strengths. It's good moral, influence, and it keeps all that negative cutthroat blood back in the stupid bucket where it belongs. Now that's a friendship bracelet of another color!

Rapid-eye-movement.

If the 90's is up to bat in the generation revival game then so be it. All I have to say is there better be a few Michael Stipe types floating around to remind us that everybody hurts.

Shoal.

Sometimes guys like this look like such puppetry. It's that there is clear evidence of sound grooming habits which, you know was not intended in the original blueprint of the image aiming to be achieved. I'm also a little curious if Hot Topic recently expanded into the tattoo parlor trade.

Catechize.

It never used to be like this but, now when ever I see a middle-aged woman shriek for joy an alarm goes off in my head that makes my pupils contract, muscles tighten, and an involuntary compulsion to vacant the area. It must be a conditioned response to all those suffocating hugs where all you could breathe was Elizabeth Taylor knock-off and Vaseline.

Magnanimous.

It's a big world out there. It's a lot of big decisions, with big opportunities, and big hotdog vendors with very large hats. So be sure that you're ready with a bang'in pair of mom shorts when you set out to conquer.

Catchpenny.

Being a teenage Jennifer Coolidge character is no walk in the park. Can you imagine plastic surgery being your crossing-over into womanhood? Also, consider the drawbacks of having an unavoidably gaudy sense of taste in everything. It's no picnic.

Pome.

It's always interesting to see people get really excited about their apparel at a festival. Some people go wacky, some go relaxed, some go everyday, and some go Fruit stripes after rehab.