I suppose it's my turn... although I'm sure you've seen this before.

We are hung over.
We are very hung over.
This is not a new feeling, however. Between the two of us, Anne and Leanna, we do rather well for ourselves, alcoholically-speaking.

Today we are, as previously specified, The Simultaneous Hickey Girls, which is rather a self-explanatory title. It just so happens that on the same night, the two of us had the privilege of getting our necks molested by members of the male gender. While this is apparently routine behavior for Anne, it is territory not visited by Leanna in two years.

Picture this: we are drunk.
We are very drunk.

Anne had started much earlier than Leanna, but, being the pro that she is, Leanna had no trouble catching up. Eighties music pulsating around us, we throw ourselves into the mess that is the dance floor on Wednesdays at the Red Star. Skirts are twirling, hands are being flung this way and that, hips are gyrating, and we continue drinking. "PUT IT ON MY TAB!" Anne yells. "I NEED A CIGARETTE!" Leanna calls. We are dancing, loud, and drunk.

There comes a point in the night where we decide to make out with the same boy -- not at the same time, of course, but the two of us have previously established a rule that we do not share when it comes to the boys. Apparently we were drunk enough that it didn't really matter. It was almost as if we were taking turns. He was like a big hunk of man meat for us to share as we pleased.

And share we did. All night long, we trade off, making out with this poor boy. Our friends watch the spectacle as if it were a train wreck... they can't look away. Mouths hang open as they watch the two of us dance around this boy, wedging ourselves between each other, trying to get at the man meat.

In hindsight, we are slightly embarrassed at our decidedly slutty behavior, but neither of us feel too badly -- he seemed to be enjoying himself just fine.

(It is at this point in the story that it should be mentioned that our hickeys came from different men. Slutty, slutty, slutty.)

The night ended with us going our separate ways -- Anne to Carmodys, Leanna to an eventual drunken slumber. We compare stories and hickeys when we reconvened today over a medley of greasy Perkins food, as we do many a morning.. er, afternoon... make that early evening.

We are not alcoholics.

We are Liquor Legends.