Drunk Mel Drunk Interviews Drunk Shawn

Jun 29, 2014 by

In which I drunk-interview my drunk husband!

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There’s a rum in my coke + oops.

Jun 28, 2014 by

Unfortunately, I scheduled this 24 hour blogathon on a day that was my father-in-law’s birthday. (I forget. Oops!) And tomorrow, I get to go to an Exotic bird show!

And, I’m havin’ some drinks. Some drinkies. Some relaxation in a cup. I fell and tripped over some rum. SO! What does that mean? It means that, I’m going to try and keep going for as long as I can–tipsy blogging FTW!–but there may be more video/vines than there are text posts.

Second, it means that I will have to “pause”, the blogging whenever I go to bed and try and make it up tomorrow. I am sincerely sorry for having to take a break in what was supposed to be 24 hours straight, but I will make it up to you tomorrow all day long, baby. And hopefully have some very amusing tipsy video/vines for you tonight. I hope you can forgive me and stick with me tonight for as long as I last and tomorrow?

Also, please don’t forget to share these posts as much as you can! Any little bit helps! I’m totes doing this for a very good person, a good cause (no one should be homeless/worry about where they are living next), and I love your faces!

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Utnapishtim

Jun 28, 2014 by

Gilgamesh rolled a rock without any colors in fingers long as church sermons.
No pieces twinkled in his jagged shard, no shimmer in it at all–flat as dead little rat eyes.
The rock and the fingers and his very great weariness in silence,
creepy-clacked to the end of my big toe.
Enkidu sings quietly from a wrinkled tree with bark as gray as the rocks.
Only the very tips of them are leafed-green. Even the sky is hushed,
humming along with Enkidu’s dirge by sending a robin to mumble-warble.
They both wear feathers and I watch them oily-gleam in the sun.
“I had a door. And on that door was my life,” he tells me.
He counts my toes with his eerie fingertips, I cannot say if he is more bird or more man.
“I do not think it was wise of me. Doors remain closed and
lives in stone don’t really breathe.”
I nod carefully, as if I know the delicate things that immortals weave.
As if I knew the gates of Uruk and all the deeds of my life, carved therein.

 

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