Funny story. Last night Matt, Mike S, and I had nothing better to do than to go to dollar shot night at Texas Jive. I really don't like that place...any bar on a monday night is going to be full of people who reeeeally shouldn't be drinking. Especially when they offer dollar shots. I had:
* a 'sex in a volkswagon'
* a 'gorilla fart'
*a 'buttery nipple'
* water, water, water
* a 'make her c*m'
* and our demise, a "thermonuclear meltdown"

We decided to walk home since no one remembered where the car was. Matt and I were yelling at each other because...(makes so much sense)..."things are going too perfectly, WE HAVE TO FIND SOMETHING TO FIGHT ABOUT!" We get to Matt and Mike's and I immediately get into Matt's bed, shoes still on and everything. Matt's argument of the moment was that I had...too many guys on my AIM buddy list. " Why do you need to talk to so many guys?!?" Ridiculous. His ranting was only ended by the yak-like wretching sounds coming from Mike. We laughed, and Matt remembered he was fake-mad at me, and stormed downstairs to sleep on the couch.

What we didn't know, was Mike had put a leftover porkchop in the oven. Which, of course, makes tons of sense at 2:30 AM.

I woke up at 4 with a killer pounding headache, sweating. It felt like it was 90 degrees. I smelled something burning, but I remembered that the guys had made a big dinner that night, so I just opened the window and went back to sleep. At 7 I woke up again, my headache worse. I figured it was the alcohol, but the burning smell was worse, along with the smell of gas.

Suddenly I got an image of when Ed Norton's apartment blows up on "Fight Club" and I run downstairs, almost tripping over Mike who had fallen asleep in the bathroom doorway.

There was no smoke, but the gas oven was set at 350, and there was a black petrified pork chop inside. I opened all the windows in the apartment and shook Matt on the couch, praying he wasn't near dead. He was still drunk and sluggish, but alive. I got on the other couch and went back to sleep.

Later when everyone was awake, we talked about the severity of the situation. If someone had lit a match, if there was a spark somewhere...we might have been blown to mars. Mike scraped the black pork chop off the pan and it broke on the kitchen tile in a million pieces.

So in conclusion, we decided that dollar shot night on a monday is not a good idea. Ever. We conceded that we all are 15 year olds in 23-25 yr olds' bodies, thus none of us are to be trusted while intoxicated. No cooking under the influence.

Matt also told me he will never pick a fight for the sake of argument again. That hot blooded Peruvian...we'll just see about that.

He did look at me with utmost sincerity and said " I'm sorry I get jealous sometimes, but you're my little penguin, you know?"

I love us :)