I am eating apple pie, and it is the best damn thing that I have ever tasted, taking into consideration that my diet this weekend has been primarily vodka and cheeseburgers. No, I take it back. It's disgusting. All I remember about some areas of the past two days is hilarity. I laughed when I talked too loud and too much. I laughed when my best friend's drunk [out of his bleeding mind] cousin tried to have sex with me. I laughed when I told him that I was a lesbian in an effort to make him leave me alone. I laughed when he believed me. I laughed when he got in his car and drove away. I laughed when I heard that he had [miraculously] come back safely, but not as hard. I laughed, that night, as we drove over the bridge blasting Eric Clapton. I laughed as I poured a drink for each of us, and ended up drinking both. And then I fell asleep. I laughed when the alcohol hit me and I was jolted awake. I laughed and babbled and repeated myself, or so I'm told. I don't remember. I laughed until I passed out an hour or so later. I'd like to say that I'm still laughing now, but I'm not. This weekend was what I needed, and now I am going to go enjoy the rest of it.