My three best girl friends, including my roomie, left me and went to Ireland. I'm not bitter. They're there now, actually, which means that all I have left are my guy friends. This weekend I hit some bars with 4 guys. Oh yes.
There was a general theme of fighting. Maybe it was the UFC fight everyone was talking about that served as the inspiration.
Fred's toe had a skirmish with a curb; it was bloody. Dan's shirt lost to some beers ("Dammit, now I look like a slob!" -- apparently guys care about that kind of thing). I (stupidly) started an ice cube fight. Myrick's penis lost a fight to a switch that I happened to be slanging. My Android had a run-in with the street. The screen is cracked, and somehow the notification light stopped working. Boo.
Then, an epic battle ensued between my sanity and some frozen drinks. Sanity, 0. Drinks... 1,457.