The stoners next door have their couch on the sidewalk again, shirtless, soaking their feet in a baby pool and listening to loud ukulele music. I want their life.
Apparently last night I sat at the bar with an upside down sharpie lightning bolt on my forehead, yelling "It's Harry Potter's birthday! Let me be on the qudditch team!" And I kept calling the bartender Dobby. There are videos.
I had my own version of the Hangover last night. I woke up to a disassembled Christmas tree, sh!t on the futon, and a hamster in the bathroom with a necklace on that said "Feed Me B!tch." I don't own a hamster.