Southern Comfort.
Can you just feel the heat emanating from this picture?
So I had a party - it was high time I threw another one. This one was Southern-themed, and fittingly, it was sticky and humid out, just as if we were in the South itself. It is so nice when the weather is accommodating like that.
And there was lots of food made! Mini ham buttermilk biscuit sandwiches, seafood salad sandwiches (provided by one of my friends), mini red velvet cakes, and mini moon pies. Because everything is better (and cuter) when it is smaller. I totally felt like a caterer the preceding couple of days, with all these miniaturized foods in my kitchen. To drink were mint juleps, planter's punch, and spiked Arnold palmers. I don't know why I don't have pictures of the drinks - that's unlike me. Or, I was drunk after having my 3rd mint julep.
As everyone was properly drunk by 9pm (the party started early at 5), a group of us decided to go out to dinner. And then we got more drinks. And then we had a mini-after party at my house since I still had tons of alcohol. And as was the case the last time I had one of those oh-why-don't-we-invite-random-people-over-to-my-apartment scenarios, maybe I had a similar situation where I woke up at 8am Sunday morning to this snoring heat-emitting mass of a male sleeping next to me, who resolutely would not wake up even though I tossed and turned - quite on purpose, mind you - to try to get him to wake up. So I settled for text-messaging people in bed again for the next three hours, bemoaning my inability to get rid of guys the next morning. If only he had left at 5:30am when he complained my room was too hot! And I told him that I didn't mind if he left, truly I didn't mind, but he said he felt bad, even though I was all, really, it's okay if you go, I will be fine and not angry I promise, all the while thinking please leave so I can fall asleep you take up too much room in my bed (not that that's a bad thing, mind you, what with 6'5 of nice large muscles and all) and I know you're sober enough to drive and that your "I think I'm too drunk to drive" from earlier in the night was really just a ruse that I played along with, but he ended up staying after I told him that if he really didn't want to leave, he could bring in a fan from my living room, where one of my friends had fallen asleep under the coffee table. If only I'd a picture of that.
That my apartment smelled like a distillery the next morning ought not to come as so much of a surprise.
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