Why You Won't Be Seeing Blogs Near As Much For Right Now

Saturday marked a month on the road for me. For the celebration of such an event (and perhaps to drown out the loneliness), my host and I bought a 1.75 litre bottle of vodka to partake of; and by the end of the evening, we had drank most of it together. Perhaps more important to this story is the fact that I rarely drink and the last time I had vodka (or this much alcohol at all) was about two years ago. While my host wasn't too terribly altered because of it, I was committing a genocide of brain cells and as far as the old saying "three sheets to the wind" is concerned, my sheets had up and flew away about three screwdrivers ago. I was nothing to the wind now.

Needless to say, the next morning I awoke and while my brain screamed at the top of its brain-lungs how much it hated me, I got to play the "Guess What I Did Last Night?" game.

I hate that game. Win or lose, you lose.

With the game, you always get your first clue free. My first clue was the shirt I was wearing last night thrown to the floor beside me, and that was enough to get me started. Many thoughts arose at that first clue.

"Why is my shirt not on me?"

That one was determined by feeling my upper body and noticing a very distinguishable lack of shirt there.

"Well, could be worse. At least my pants are-"

Oh, balls.

A quick hand to the lower body revealed that despite me not being able to do common activities when blitzkrieged, shedding of my clothes is apparently one of the activities I can still do just fine under the influence.

But the shirt was more of a clue than it looked. After picking it up to put it back on my body, I felt the distinct feeling of a wet article of clothing. Well, other symptoms of something being wet typically includes a noticeable odor that might help me determine why said item is indeed damp, so I took a sniff.

If there was a smell to fit just the word "awful", I'm pretty sure it was all over my shirt.

"Awful and-"

"Awful annnnnd-"

"Awful and cheese."

My shirt had the scent of awful and cheese.

I hate this game so damn much.

I walked over to a pair of shorts (not the clothing I was wearing last night, mind you, that comes later) and slipped them on. Upon walking into the den, I saw the sight to fit the smell that you would call "awful and cheese".

Bodily fluids can ruin a laptop. And a couch cushion. And a wooden coffee table. And a shirt. And a floor. That should be the first tip listed in any guidebook of any kind; bodily fluids will fuck your shit up.

So my laptop is fried now.

But the game must go on, so I walked into the kitchen and found a smoke-filled room and a small skillet on the stovetop that had what appeared to be a large lump of charcoal, with little bits of yellow still around it.

One shouldn't attempt making a grilled cheese sandwich when intoxicated. Lesson number two in that same guidebook mentioned before.

Expecting my host to be furious, I found out that he had broke a window in his room from almost tripping and falling through it so suddenly things don't seem so bad.

I had to keep up my travels but I need the money for a new laptop so I will be hitching to Maryland to join a carnival temporarily. I think one of the things I love most about hitching is that we get to say sentences that most people would only say to jest.

I'm going to join the carnival in Maryland; and I'm not jesting.

Regards from the Kodiak.