It's no wonder that after all these years of
illicitly illegal, unanimously underage,
parents-out-of-town, debauchery in our own backyard,
that we have refined our ruckus-making skills.
This year it was a Christmas party, the day after Christmas,
After all of the family "winge-ing"
(New Zealand word I learned from Coco that I've come to understand as meaning general obligatory, but not necessarily bad, exasperation or distress.)
We finished out 2009 at the infamous and magical gypsy wonderhouse
that lies on Rockdale(Electric)Avenue.
The keg was finally full of nice bear (for once)
The house was party-proofed before the party (for once)
No one got hurt, No one vomited
(at least not at inopportune moments or in unfortunate places)
The cops did not come,
and the only bad kid(s)
there was a pit bull named Jacques
(and he's still a puppy, so we'll cut him some slack)
So here is one of my best nights ever in Nashville, Tennessee. In pictures...
That's My DJ.
That's my shining star.
That's a cool ass picture.
That's my love.
That's my love's love.
That's my boo. Take 1.
Take 2.
Take 3.
These are my best friends.
This is how we dubstep.
This is Nashville.
This is Nick.
Since he made fun of me for having a blog and all, I figured I feature him on it.
Jackass.
This is fire spinning.
And this looks like a skeleton made of fire, spinning fire.
This is the point at which I was no longer okay to drive.
(which i didn't, mom and dad, scouts honor.)
These are gangsters.
This is silly.
This just sums it all up.
(Note Hugh Hefner-esque robe. Definitely Best Dressed)
This is three's company. Our way.