Happy St. Patty’s Day, Mom. I got a tattoo.

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March 17th. The day for all the fair-skinned imps to lather up and show themselves in public. We head to Sherlock’s which is a British pub which is the same thing as an Irish pub so it was crawling with every person in North Dallas claiming “oh yeah my grandpa was part Irish.” I grab my green beer and we head towards the back away from the crowd of lunatics. THEY HAVE DART BOARDS. LET’S PLAY.

I ask this woman if she paid for darts or if it’s just a waiting game. She says wait you look familiar. TURNS OUT SHE’S A COWORKER. IN HR. THE OTHER PEOPLE WITH HER ARE ALL HR AND NOW I HAVE TO DRINK WATER. I didn’t drink water though. They assured me they were fun so I got another round. Moments later (remember this bar is packed like a sardine can) I hold up my green beer for all to see and yelled “5 years sober today!”

 

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I get looks of distaste as if I had just thrown a kitten into a bonfire. Nobody ever laughs, but I think it’s funny. I do it about every 2 months or so. The sober line, not kitten throwing. It’s now been 3 days and my arm still hurts from my one game of darts if anyone is curious what it’s like to be an athlete.

athlete

*me bc i am obviously in maximum physical condition*

Now we are at a piano bar. This is when it ends for me. I am a sucker for jell-o shots in those shitty plastic syringes. I feel like I’m 19 again. I ask my friends if they want one and they so no just like rosa parks would. So I end up buying 4 for myself because I love jello. Blue is my favorite flavor in case anyone needs birthday gift ideas for me. It’s in my will that there’s a jello sculpture at my open casket funeral. The reason it’s open casket is so that everyone can have one last chips & queso with me. My dead mouth is the queso bowl.

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NO DOUBLE DIPPERS

Anyway now it’s Sadurday and I am a lottle hungover. But I get some gas station coffee and an acai bowl then head to a brewery for a dog event with Winston. I show up dogless because KK is late as always, but I wanted the beers I already paid for because my life is about value and I’m not going to waste money. I keep telling people “oh.. uhm. He’ll be here soon. It’s his mom’s weekend. It’s hard on him being a child of divorce, but we are making an effort.” So here I am wandering around like a Jew in the desert waiting for Winnie to get here. And that’s when I see it. A henna tattoo tent. There is a gypsy inside offering dog-themed henna tattoos. I waltz over and pretend not to be as excited as I really am. I ask for the paw print. She starts doodling and we’re bonding over whatever it is she is talking about. Honestly, I’m not really listening. I don’t know how anyone could do anything else with that god awful smell oh man what the fuck is that did somebody shit? There’s a hundred dogs here I bet one of them laid a steamer. IT’S MY WRIST. THE HENNA TATTOO GOO SMELLS ABSOLUTELY HEINOUS. This is unspeakable and I am utterly offended that she didn’t tell me about the rotten, asshole discharge that she is decorating me with. I have to live with this on my arm for eternity.

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But that’s when Winston shows up. He is so happy to see me. And even more excited that I am getting this tattoo for him. The look in his good eye makes this dishonorable stench almost bearable. We get him some treats and all his goodies while he is making friends, but I can’t not smell the putrid mold melting my skin off. I have to go wash this off. I am trying really hard not to rub in on my shirt or pants. I GOTTA WEAR THIS TONIGHT. I roll down all of my windows and open my sunroof and calmly drive like a madman to my apartment to wash it off. Nothing worked. I didn’t actually believe her when she said it’d be about two weeks. I tried soap, olive oil, baking soda, toothpaste, and just about everything short of heating up a butter knife and removing it like my prison buddy taught me when he removed his ex-wife’s name from his forearm once.

Inmates stand in a gymnasium where they are housed due to overcrowding at the California Institution for Men state prison in Chino

ok I should probably clarify. We became friends AFTER he was in prison, we didn’t become friends IN prison together.

This is so embarrassing. I have a dog paw henna tattoo on my wrist AS WELL AS my hairless shin that is just now starting to grow back after I was persuaded to get it waxed in Lubbock a few weeks ago. THAT’S A WHOLE OTHER STORY.

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kaitlyn’s face tells you everything you need to know

cash me outside wearing long sleeve shirts for two weeks how bout dat

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