July 2nd 12:52pm - Chalk?

My mother may as well be Mother Teresa. All of the furniture, clothes, books, food, etc. moved from my childhood home to her new house but none of the alcohol. She left the alcohol for my brother, myself, and our friends. Unfortunately the collection did not comprise chasers, mixers, or any liquor that I normally consume. It did entail dozens of bottles of aged wine, Scotch, Tequila, Whiskey, Blue Curacao, and Creme de Cacao which I find as alluring as Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt.

For the record: consuming blue concoctions with multiple hard liquors equates feeling as good as the time, in 7th grade, my crush told his friend in front of me and much of the class that I had blood on my pants.

I had suspected for thirty minutes or so that I had started my period. This was evident by the fact that I was sitting in what I could clearly define as liquid. However, my class was taking a timed test and my fear at not finishing eclipsed logic. After I completed the final question, I stood up and turned to exit the class. I heard Crush, who sat behind me, say indiscreetly, "Oh my God. Look at that huge red stain on Kara's white pants. Is that blood?" followed by laughter from at least two sources. Maybe six.

Hours and drinks after the consumption commencement, my brother announced he was going to return to the new house. Two of our friends walked outside, one who was so inebriated she tripped on her own feet upon initially entering the house, and another who had consumed a few blue liquor brews but was as sober as Ghandi.

"I need Kara's brother to give me a ride home! I'm going to get in his car now so he doesn't leave without me," Drunkard whispered to Blue Brew.

When the car doors were found to be locked, Blue Brew suggested she climb on top of the car to see if the sunroof was open. Drunkard was under the opinion that this was more reasonable than walking back inside and requesting a ride. She climbed onto the car with the dignity of the Queen of England, likely denting the roof in the process, and crawled around on hands and knees in a dress.

"The sunroof isn't open!" she declared, disappointed, and jumped/fell to the driveway.

Drunkard and Blue Brew returned inside where we immediately noticed the dirt streaks and white blotches covering Drunkard's legs like chickenpox.

"What is that?" we asked her.

She looked down, dumbfounded.

"It must be chalk," she told us, as indeterminate as a transvestite's identifying sex.

"Really?" one of our friends asked, touching it.

"Where did you get that? Where'd you just come from?" my brother asked.

Blue Brew said they were outside and she climbed on the top of his car to see if the sunroof was open.

"Ya, that's bird shit all over your legs," my brother said. "I haven't washed the car in awhile. Definitely bird shit."