We took the drunk bus down to Philly on Friday...we did it once before if you remember back when Johnny and I were rocky. This time we certainly weren't having any relationship problems but we were both having a hard time fighting gravity. You see, for the cost of $27 a person ,you too can act like an idiot. Paying $27 ensures that you will get a ride to and from the city (safe!) and that your cover will be paid to enter the bar...and...there's free beer and booze on the bar. Well, on this particular trip, the "promised booze" turned out to be a small bottle of Jameson in a paper bag which was passed around like we were all 16 and drinking MadDog or something.

It's a strange thing when you think the beer is free...something clicks deep within the human psyche and you begin to horde beer. You also try to throw as much of it down your throat as humanly possibly (because of course, "You want to get your money's worth"). This whole process is easier said than done in a hired out school bus. School busses have the springest shocks in all the land and half the time, my hoarded beer that I attempted to pour down my throat ended up going over my head and landing in my hoodie (this is only an assumption, but it seems plausible as my hoodie hood reeks of Miller Lite and PBR and no other part of my clothing does. The other half of the time I was trying to keep my body from involuntarily shooting towards the metal roof of the vehicle. Seriously. School Buses + Drunks= Death Cab (but not for Cutie). Speaking of equations...

Melina + one too many beers (at the end of the night)= stumbly/beligerent and full of beer tears. Johnny+ one too many beers= babbily/beligerent and also full of beer tears. We got made fun of because we had a little spat on the bus and then both started to cry...because that's how we roll. Luckily, we're both very forgiving and we're both quite used to being stubborn little butts when we're drunk so we can laugh it off and then take a night off from everyone else out at the bar to 'poon on the couch...(I'm so cutsey pie now. I've changed spooning, to 'pooning...which could sound dirty, and sometimes it is, but most of the time, it's just cuddling on sie couch).

The show itself was fun, I sat on a stool and got pretty rip roaring drunk with T who somehow twisted her ankle at some point in the night, she made out with one boy and went home with a different another (Tony)...the same boy who will always "fight" for her when there's someone else interested in her (at least that's my theory and John nodded sagely when I suggested it, so it must be true. It. Must. Be). John lost his glasses mid-show...perhaps it was from his impromptu performance (he was asked to sing one of his band's old songs with Tony) or perhaps it was from doing a (several?? I dunno?) beer bongs out of this?? One may never know. I do know this-- he lost them and then I went around trying to find them. Drunkenly bobbing and weaving (dangerously approaching the ground with my skull as I tried to focus on looking down), I was triumphant!!! I ran to give him his sludge covered glasses (honestly, I ran...he was outside smoking a cigarette and I flew around the club and then out of the doors holding my little dirty prize in my hand) and he wasn't as grateful as my drunken little self wanted him to be! "How dare he?" I questioned...didn't he know that "I stopped a punk rock show to find them!??!!" but of course, he did know when I told him just under 9,257 times.