The last Harrah.

Grammar disclaimer: I'm on valium and davarset. So this is a bit difficult.

I'm writing this post operation since the last week has been a crazy whirl wind of activity and emotion. The morning started with me waking up extremely angry at BW. I Told him to get the fuck out of my house, then had a panic attack on the back deck, then laid down in the shower for ten minutes. Then regaining my sanity sightly I burst into JT's room. "Get up!" I scream, "We're going to breakfast." He moans and turns back over. "Get up we are going to Rooster they have over 20 types of bloody marys." Boy do I know how to get that dude out of bed. So after some stumbling and grumbling we both drag ourselves out to my car and headed to Locust street where i had planned to meet several of my college Lacrosse team mates.

Knowing you're going to be down and out for several months is a great incentive to do all those things you say you'll do but don't always follow through with. So when a few of my colleges buds showed up to the Large and In Charge and we said we should go the the park and throw around, damn it we were going to the park. And when I found out Julie Whitman was in town and that we should all go to breakfast, damn it, we were getting up and going to breakfast. Even if it was at 9 in the morning and I was having a party in a couple of hours.

So Rooster on Locust is a cool spot, there are cocks everywhere. Right up my alley. Unfortunately, I was terribly hungover. And after a bloody that i loaded up with tobasco and rooster sauce, I threw up at the table. I was really subtle about it and no one noticed. JT even yelled at me for stealing his napkin. So breakfast was not so good, but it was good to see some old friends. Next headed to the store to haphazardly throw some food and beer into the cart at a puling attempt to feed the party goers. Cantaloupe, watermelon, chips and salsa, colt forty five (because it works every time), a thirty pack of highlife (because its the champaign of beers), and a pinky swear not to buy any hard liquor, and a giant bag of ice.

After we got back the crazy J's, jt and jc started the party. A couple of hours later some people showed up. Aliah and Eddie Holman, my gansta "boss" coworker and her recently obtained husband (the luckiest man on the planet in my own opinion) show up with a big brown bag of wing stop. Followed by the Weavers. And then Emily, a beloved ex co-worker now with child who husband just made it into the FBI. She'll be leaving town soon. After the early arrivals, I sort of lost track. The main high light of the evening was JR's lap dance in stripped man panties. I don't have any photos of that. And didn't remember until i was reminded in the morning while enjoying a mid-morning freezer pop.

I tried to burn my bras. But bras of these days are made out of synthetic materials. So they don't really burn. They just sort of melt. Which doesn't really have the same feminist impact. I just ended up ruining my favorite popcorn bowl.

There's many more photos of the party. Most of them involve boobs. Go fucking figure huh. They aren't on my camera. We'll post those later, when I get back home.