Reminder about locking everything up: comment or email if you want a password.
I can't remember how it came up, but K, D, and I decided to become a ramblin', rumblin', rough and tumble crew of emo bears. D has a t-shirt of an emo Carebear, so I started off on how we would walk into bars all high and mighty and cooler-than-thou and then burst into tears. K added that, "Our Emo Bear Stare would emanate clouds of gray smoke." Oh, how we laughed!
It was wine and cheese night at D's manor in the smoke- and ash-filled hills of Santa Barbara. The sunset was amazing; the ash I had inhaled earlier while running with Damien combined with the actual smoke of the fires that surround this town was not.
Last night was T's birthday, so even though I was jetlagged and heartbroken, I showed up and wistfully traipsed my way through the bottle service in the VIP area on someone else's tab. The highlight was the end of the night when K and I were telling some Irish boys to fuck off and they wouldn't and E appears out of nowhere like the fairy of bitchitude, puts herself between K and I and the boys, and announces to the world, "You'd better not be fucking with my girls or you'll be fucking with me. If they told you to leave them alone, back the fuck off." This was after we had broken up at least two fights between our guy friends. I think we were all a little angry last night, and the vodka didn't help anything. I really ought to stop drinking for awhile; probably will not, at least until next week when the dust settles.