So about that Saturday night...

Well lets start with the bad first. Much love for those girls. Well, two of them anyways. But clearly a guest did not understand the rules. BYOB means bring your own beer. That means, if you didn't bring your own stuff, it isn't yours. Yes, that means the keg does not belong to the house. Yes, you got scalped into paying at the door for an alcohol-less party. Too bad. Read the fine print. Then, I'm annoyed at said guest who apparently thinks "DJ" means "babysitter". We're adults. If you can't handle your own liquor, or you can't police your own friend's intake of alcoholic beverages, then it's not my job to pick up the pieces. Digusting. I absolutely HATE dealing with drunk girls. Well, at least the dancefloor was rocked for 3 hours by yours truly. Anyways, we ended up (after someone threw a beer all over my shit), heading back to Hartwell and enjoying the beer pong and company of the few and merry. Always into shit like that. Maybe I'm just getting old...