back again. drunk in europe. don't know who is watching.
i want to go home BUT I NEVER WANT TO GO HOME EVER.
i want to see j and b and ruff and drive OTTO of course.
i'm so on vacay that i dont even use punctuation.
but sometimes i wish vacation had no internet. no dealing with all my thoughts of everything i may have messed up and left behind and now i have to return to.
and then amy yells at me and says BASTA.
there were italians here.
and we made friends with...
a kyrgys pop star
german hiphop stars
an american diplomat sleaze who stared at our chests and had weird vampire wife
some boy named atilla thinks i'm famous (but i am!)
and more importantly i went to fucking wolfsburg, VW paradise
but now i sit here and worry because in 14 hours i must go home and deal with non-lazlo drama:
3 Ms, a serious R, a guatemalan, a Westerner, another R and god only knows who else,
and fucking christmas bullshit.
and i still havent packed
and we have so much goddamn booze and meat and VW paraphernaila to bring home.
fuck.
i have to go find the italians now.
and drink more of course
fucking vacation
go!
i need to go hug amy.
and chris.
but amy because she deals with this shit.