"Write about me."
-Bri Campbell, famous American women's right activist from the 1960s. Responsible for thousands of women receiving equal employment opportunities, including the right to work in upper management positions. (Just kidding, she's my new New Hampshire friend that I occasionally drink Sunday morning Mojitos with on my back porch.)

As a soldier to any and all devices that record the collections of meaningful words, i have to write.  And as a soldier to any possible excuse to use these devises to record these words, I have to obey my new friend Bri's demands.  My dreamer's brain, although usually drenched in alcohol and thoughts/attention span that resemble that of a 10 year old in a toy store, will always love writing. My brain is where the magic comes from (if you can call it magic, but if you want to call it something to laugh at and feel pity for, i totally feel ya bro), and my love for writing is the fuel that feeds the fire.  And these lovely fingers of mine are the machines; they are the hard working ants on the ant hill that exhume all their energy and are the final reason why all of my crazy and sometimes inspirational thoughts get recorded via things like this blog.. or the sidewalk, if i still have the chalk i bought at Rite Aid that time i got high and forgot that i wasn't 12 years old.

Sorry for getting sidetracked, I forgot, i am a soldier. No, not in the U.S. army, a soldier to expression, and inspirational sources, such as my friend Bri who demanded that I write about her. and also to beer, vodka, and wine, and popcorn, puppies that are soft, clouds (did i mention that I might have ADD?) (And also i am drunk).

Anyway, my friend Bri. It took me about ten minutes to figure out how to spell her last name because my other friends in the room were trying to pronounce it like it was the most surprising sound that ever came out of their mouths. "CamP-BULL" "Cam-bull" "WITH A P!" .. Alright guys, calm down. This is a blog not the U.S. Amendments.

Bri is my friend who I just met a few weeks ago. She likes littering, dating strange men who look like they are 12, becoming mute when she drinks, and moving to Alaska.  She lives with my other new friend, Tina, on a very pleasant street in the town of Plymouth, New Hampshire. The street happens to be called Pleasant Street.  She has been my kind of neighbor for the past few months, but i only just met her and Tina in the past few weeks. I met them one morning after waking up in my bed naked, confused, and hungover, arising from my slumber to the sound of their voices outside my bedroom window. I opened my eyes and listened to their voices and thought, "Who are these people? Burglars? Mailmen? No, those are female voices.. mailwomen? Maybe they are from UPS. Do I have a delivery?  A book from Amazon?!?! (Smile grows across my face)... Wait, no its Sunday (smile turns to frown)...ok well i guess I should go find out who they are. Wait, where are my pants?"

Anyway, I realize after the fact that I spent time with Tina and Bri before that morning on the porch.. we hung out several times, but there are some actions that lead me to lose my memories such as drinking wine out of mugs. So, if you are reading this, Tina and Bri, and you remember meeting me before that morning on the porch, then I apologize for not remembering you. (I doubt you remember me though, because I have seen you both drink more alcohol then an alcoholic hobo locked in a wine cellar).

So anyway, as I end this beautiful hand written award winning essay (just kidding, I typed it), I will say that I love meeting new friends, although i hate meeting them only weeks before we all have to go our separate ways. I wish I met all of my new Plymouth friends (aka all the people I met while living in my apartment on Russell st, yes the one with the back mojito porch and naked bed) a long time ago.  Even though our time together is ending, I cant help but smile and be thankful that I got to spend time with amazing, hilarious, and kind people, who care more about laughing and making memories then drama, money, and punching people in the face (sorry I just saw an episode of Real Housewives of NY, it was scary).  So in the future, whenever I sit in my new home in Massachusetts, and feel sad and lonely, I will hug this little Shitzu that I found in the dumpster outside of my Russell Street apartment, and I will think of the awesome people I met here while living on Russell st, Plymouth, New Hampshire.. You guys all know how to live with a genuine love for life and because of you I will look at life more confidently. Drunk hugs and kisses and the imaginary clinking of plastic-dollar-store glasses filled with Mojitos.