![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Work
We're starting an office kickball team. To play in the city kickball league. I KNOW. *g*
(Now I have just GOT to find some jerseys on the cheap. So we can make our own.)
The OMG-I'm-Drunk Indy Race
Drinking games can be fun. Or at least make a really craptastic race fun. (If you want to know why the race was craptastic, watch Kenseth's exploding right rear tire. They had to throw a caution every 8-10 laps because the tires kept going flat.)
The way the drinking game went:
1 shot of tequila if a tire es-plodes
2 shots of tequila if a tire es-plodes within two laps of a competition yellow
1 shot of tequila if we make it to the competition yellow without a blown tire
Sadly, I started the game *after* the Kenseth es-plosion. So I only got to do a shot per competition yellow. And I was drunk not long after. Hee.
But side effects of drunk:
1. Hot flashes
2. The munchies
3. Insane giggling
4. Apparently, insomnia (dude, I didn't go to work on Monday because I didn't get to sleep until after 8 am)
But no hangover. Cause I'm smart and had lots of water and took headache meds. *g*
Awesome Dreams
I had a dream last night that was awesome. The plot was great and the characters in it were great. I really, really want to write this. We'll ignore the fact that Carl Edwards was in the dream.
(Okay, so we were cops. Partners. Carl and me. We were hunting a killer who was exceedingly smart. He cornered us, shooting at us. We're pinned down and my sole concern was Carl. Um, seems there was a secret love thing. Secret from him. Feelings on my part and all. But me being too proud to admit it and wanting to maintain the working relationship. And I got him out, because he got wounded, and had to face the killer alone while he went for help. I have to say, it was a killer dream. I actually woke up and wished I had time to start writing it down then. It had that feel of something you could serialize.)
We're starting an office kickball team. To play in the city kickball league. I KNOW. *g*
(Now I have just GOT to find some jerseys on the cheap. So we can make our own.)
The OMG-I'm-Drunk Indy Race
Drinking games can be fun. Or at least make a really craptastic race fun. (If you want to know why the race was craptastic, watch Kenseth's exploding right rear tire. They had to throw a caution every 8-10 laps because the tires kept going flat.)
The way the drinking game went:
1 shot of tequila if a tire es-plodes
2 shots of tequila if a tire es-plodes within two laps of a competition yellow
1 shot of tequila if we make it to the competition yellow without a blown tire
Sadly, I started the game *after* the Kenseth es-plosion. So I only got to do a shot per competition yellow. And I was drunk not long after. Hee.
But side effects of drunk:
1. Hot flashes
2. The munchies
3. Insane giggling
4. Apparently, insomnia (dude, I didn't go to work on Monday because I didn't get to sleep until after 8 am)
But no hangover. Cause I'm smart and had lots of water and took headache meds. *g*
Awesome Dreams
I had a dream last night that was awesome. The plot was great and the characters in it were great. I really, really want to write this. We'll ignore the fact that Carl Edwards was in the dream.
(Okay, so we were cops. Partners. Carl and me. We were hunting a killer who was exceedingly smart. He cornered us, shooting at us. We're pinned down and my sole concern was Carl. Um, seems there was a secret love thing. Secret from him. Feelings on my part and all. But me being too proud to admit it and wanting to maintain the working relationship. And I got him out, because he got wounded, and had to face the killer alone while he went for help. I have to say, it was a killer dream. I actually woke up and wished I had time to start writing it down then. It had that feel of something you could serialize.)
