The Philosophy of Cicero

Disclaimer: this post is not in actuality about the philosophy of Cicero, the Roman who had his head and hands chopped off. Nope, its about my fish. I actually ended up leaving him at my boyfriend's apartment for the break (his roommate or him were there for most of the break so someone would feed him, plus I don't feed him anyway, so what was the harm?). I didn't think he could handle a trip all the way up to Dallas (why do I sound like I am talking about my great-aunt, not my fish?)

I have been back three weeks. I just retrieved my fish. He's still alive, although Kyle's roommate probably would argue he's only partially alive. I think Kyle fed him too much. And now he's going to expect it. (Prediction...that fish will be dead in a week...sorry Cicero).

Now for a completely different topic, because I have run out of things to say about my frail fish (woohoo alliteration!!!)

Have I mentioned I live right behind all the bars? Cuz I do. It makes for some interesting nights. I am not one to go out to bars, mainly because I am not 21 quite yet, and it makes standing around being hit on by drunk guys even worse when you can't drown it out with a drink yourself. But I certainly see and hear a lot. The outfits themselves just make my night. Why any girl would think it is a good idea to wear something that wouldn't fit my 7 year old cousin in 35 degree weather is beyond me.

PS, I live on a street called church street...with all the churches...and the bars. The irony is lost on no one. But heck. this is the good ol' south. Passing out in the church parking lot just makes it easier to get your butt in the pew on Sunday and make good ol' mama proud (I have never passed out anywhere, let alone a church parking lot).

And now I think I shall go to sleep. I have the chords of an off tune rising country star to lull me to sleep while the pitching screams of drunks will fill my ears all night. Who couldn't sleep?