So I was feeling sort of down last night–critical painting failure always makes me mopey. I headed over to Kevin’s in hopes of booze and a hug.
The hug was forthcoming, along with sympathetic noises. Then we drove around for a hour looking for an open liquor store in hopes of acquiring the makings of a martini. “It’ll be an adventure!” Alas, we failed to locate one, but I am so noxiously in love that just driving around together making snarky comments was enough to cheer me up a bit. (Surprisingly, saying “It’ll be an adventure!” did not result in interesting calamity. Maybe that’s just when I drive somewhere with Carlota…)

Then we went back to his place, raided the back of the liquor cabinet, and I was introduced to what was described as the Southern Gentleman’s private party…Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, and…um…I forget the third one, but it was definitely in the same vein. (Look, I’m lucky to remember my own NAME, okay?) With a definite feeling of having wandered into a George Thorogood song by mistake, I got thoroughly snockered, and we crawled off to watch 300, which he hadn’t seen, but which is really a great movie to watch when you’re drunk on whatever species of whiskey.

And a good time was had by all!

Today, I paint.

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