I'm not necessarily proud of any of this
I woke up this morning with sharpie on my arm. Eighteen lines; one for each drink during the Twelve Bars of Christmas last night (we hit fourteen, which I think means we beat the other pub crawl we ran into a few times). My brother got... more. It was pretty ridiculous, and pretty successful. Today he and I and a few friends decided to cap the experience off with the Mandarin. I think it made me feel worse than the drinking, and despite going there at 4, I'm still full. Good lamb, though.
