We just hate pants.

This post started out as an excuse to share a google talk conversation that drunk!Jo and I just had but I realized that the whole thing wasn't nearly as funny if you don't know what drunk!Jo sounds like when she talks. Suffice to say, she was delighting in the fact that she wasn't wearing pants. "Don't you hate pants?" etc. That's like the number one thing we talk about when we're drunk or stoned...or completely sober.

So this has been quite the weekend for altered states of consciouness in our household. Barb had a pot fest yesterday and I'm not going to lie, I partook (is that even a word?). I don't usually but I was trying to avoid schoolwork. What better way to avoid it, I said to myself, than to make it so that you're thinking about the little people that live in the couch and not the Scottish diaspora? And lets face it, I'm defenseless against all the red hair. The bong, in case you're wondering (and who wouldn't be?), seems to be the ticket to getting me high. Throat still hurt like a bitch though.

I always look ridiculous when I'm smoking up with Barb. To preface: I didn't even get drunk until about 8 months ago as I'd avoided alcohol like the plague up to that point. Barb, on the other hand, has tried pot, e, GHB, shrooms and possibly acid. Thusly, Barb, the seasoned professional, hardly coughs at all. I, new to this bong device, coughed until there were tears. Smooth. s-m-o-o-t-h. Barb's all, practice makes perfect and I'm all, I just don't like weed that much. You know what doesn't take practice? Pouring things into a glass and drinking them.

This evening it was JoSuLin's turn. Alcohol was had. Pizza was ordered. The concotion that Jo and Susan drank can only be called Vile. Vodka, peach schnapps, blush wine and gatorade. The smell was horrifying. Maybe this is just crazy talk but unless they're made by a licensed professional, I generally want my drinks to contain no more than two things.