Pickled eggs. Eggs pickled? About twenty of them float in a screw top glass jar, sat between Tuckins teacakes dressed in red and silver foil, and packets of pork scratchings, my favourite snack, 80p.
1. Always (ALWAYS) have plans in the back of your mind:
3. We’re all alcoholics.
A few days ago, I wrote this, discussing the detriments of alcohol abuse and the reasons that supported the assertion that I have a drinking problem.
An ability to drink is a badge of honor for many young men, especially aspiring writers. While I view this as a destructive trend, I also realize that I probably have a drinking problem.
I finished my beer and ordered a vodka cranberry. Someone standing next to me overheard my drink order and said, “What, are you on your period?”
When I was twenty-one years old, my mother told me that her twenties were the hardest decade of her life. This kind of puzzled me at the time.
Burn lasagna, overcook eggs, forget to add the baking powder to the chocolate cake you’re making. These are all mistakes that young people are allowed to make.
A couple of shots make it seem less odd that almost every nook—including an elevated, cushioned cubby accessible by ladder—is occupied by a twosome engaged in an aggressive round of necking and/or heavy petting.
My life since college graduation has been the most wonderfully uncertain, bumbling, transitional, fun, flailing, cacophony of experiences and existence.