I have been traveling the world for some time now, and it has come to my attention that travel writers, though increasingly abundant and occasionally amazing, do not really ever talk about the entertaining bits.  They might, say, describe a horrid trek through some god-awful place full of rats and vomit and blah blah blah, but there’s always a morally uplifting part at the end where everyone sees the joy in wherever-it-is-they’re-visiting. They might do the opposite, and ignore every little bit of discomfort that anyone who’s every gone _anywhere_ has experienced, to focus on the ohhh, isnt this amaaaaazing parts.  Some travel writers today are adventurous, some are authentic, some actually take us out of our lives and transport us to places we’ll never see, or would never actually want to see.  Some are all of these things at once, but that is clearly not what I’m attempting here.  I, in fact, would like to write about what I know best: disasters, mainly mine (sorry y’all,  I might could mention some of my friends’ mishaps from time to time as well…).  And so, I will write of ridiculousness and drunkenness and general disaster.  I will try to reveal no names, but no promises here 🙂 I will also write as I talk, and if the grammar dont work, then it dont work.  I will take as my motto the nicest thing ever said of me (slightly paraphrased): “it’s nice to know she’s still out there in the world, causin’ trouble”…