In the Parking Lot

I don't even know where to begin.

--Tagged under: halloween--

I almost forgot that Halloween meant Halloween parties.

I think I should just sit by my window all weekend live-blogging the events as they occur.

Fred and Wilma Flinstone just passed by. Wilma was already too drunk to walk. That was never in the cartoons.

No, no, it's okay. You can totally have that deep, personal conversation on your cell phone out in the parking lot.

I won’t eavesdrop.

Am I still allowed to make fun of the drunks when I come home intoxicated?

Yes. Yes. I am.

“I love you foreeevvvverrr.”

That’s probably a lie.

It's not about the number of times you fall down, it's about the number of shots you'll have tonight to forget about falling down.

Girls: Woooo! We’re goin’ to the bars!

Girl: Woooo!

**THUD**

Girls: OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY? OH NO! ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY?

Girl: Wooooo! We’re goin’ to the bars!

Well, they still recognize their basic colors and items.

Playing catch (500) in the parking lot at 11pm on a Tuesday is a great idea you guys.

Pause only for the ladies who are walking through towards the bars.

Late at night in the parking lot, I can hear the hearts of several drunks sink into their stomachs whenever the police sirens go off.

Follow me! Follo--oh you get the idea.