Twenty!

B.O.D.

Obviously, this is drunken rambling for some pretty obvious reasons, 3 specifics being:

1. I’m not wearing pants (Eva pantsed me because I was making her laugh too hard.)

2. I couldn’t think of the word “advocate”.

3. Wanting the best for the middle class doesn’t automatically make you a Democrat.  I’m a Democrat because I want the best for the middle class and LOWER class.  Wanting the best for the lower class is what makes you a Democrat.

It could be argued that Ron Paul is an exception.  All I’d really like to see him do play a leading roll as a mythical creature in the next epic trilogy that comes out.  I can really see him as an elf, or wearing tights and playing a mandolin.  None of my opinions about Ron Paul are based on anything of substance, just quick appraisals of his platform and mostly judgement of his annoying voice and mousy nature.  I’m human I won’t pretend I can help myself.

Anyway, the sangria that night really got to me.  Eva said it was such a pleasure being the designated driver she didn’t even mind that she didn’t drink.  We have other funny videos from that night that are, in some way or another, all innappropriate to post on my blog.  If my Dad or my Grandma weren’t avid readers I might decide otherwise (although I know my Grandma had a lot of fun partying in her college years.)

The morning after this, I woke up and was about to make myself some eggs.  Eva came out of her room just as I was watching a square of butter melt on the pan.  The first thing she said was, “I’m meltingggg!  I’m meltinggg!”  I laughed, thinking she was giving a voice to the square of butter that was quickly disappearing before my eyes.  In fact she was mimicking ME, the night before, with my head out the window yelling “I’m MELTING!”  the whole way home.

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