I don’t get a chance to hang out with my friends as much as I would like to, thanks in part to the combination of me needing to avoid a certain stressor and the whole *points to head* PTSD thing.
But there have been a good number of occasions where my friends are nice enough to make sure that I can get out of the house and feel safe at the same time when I do it.
The hangout isn’t much to look at…
…yeah, I live in the projects, so I’m going to go ahead and remove my judgements here.
Somehow, we manage to hang out in our friend Roy’s* house’s loft/attic space, which considering the fact that most of the group is closer to normal size than I am, is a neat trick. We’re an incredibly weird bunch, prone to getting excited over the silliest and often nerdiest things. (Me a couple weeks ago: HOLY CRAP, THIS FONT KERNS BEAUTIFULLY.)
We’ve got a good number of in-jokes, among them the namesake of this entry. See, Roy’s grams goes through a LOT of milk and bread. Often, we’re just all settling in for some sort of stupid nerdy debate of some sort or watching some weird movie when suddenly you hear, rising up the steps:
“ROY! GET MILK AND BREAD!!”
After the third time this happened in the middle of a campaign, someone asked, “What, is she eating milk sandwiches or something?”
…and Milk Sandwiches stuck.