Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

A To Do List

Today on Pants' 'To Do' list:

1) Call for car service

2) Client meeting

3) Hold John...just one more time.....

Pants' is losing his very favorite work friend today.

He's moving up and on to a different agency...leaving Pants behind. No more Jackassery (on company time). No more homo-erotic camaraderie.

I'm sad for Pants, because if he thinks I'm going to pick up the slack left behind by John, he is sorely mistaken. The dumb sounds they amuse each other making, the farting for effect, the shared enjoyment of bad films, like Pumping Iron...it's just not me.

Good luck John, with moves like this, I guarantee you'll dazzle everyone at the new place, congrats!

I predict you will waste many moments here....

They may be wasted moments, but they will be happy, laughing moments.

5ives

(you may blame Beerzie)

Why did i say this?

"If you can't play with each other, then don't play with each other!"

A Huge Karaoke 'Oops'

I love The Inn Place.

It smells rancid, they sell a fried bologna sandwich, their 'Micro Brew' is Sam Adams, it's quite full at all hours of the day, even 2pm on a Wednesday....don't ask how I know this, I just do. There are fights at The Inn Place! Fights that involve knocking over tables in an angry moment of rage and then picking up the table and sitting back down like it never happened. I love that! It's full of sad people who become a little happier when they drink.

On our first venture into the place, our friend Brad was trapped on the tiny, pathetic dance floor while Sir Mix-a-Lot's 'Baby Got Back' played loudly. As if in a nightmare, tall, thin Brad was thrown about by all the large asses surrounding him. These women had 'Back' and they wanted to show it....to Brad. At one point one of the women was playing what can only be described as bongo drums on another lady's ass. It was then that he got really scared.

Poor Brad was caught in the middle, attempting to look like he was enjoying himself but desperately trying to swim out of the Sea Of Ass engulfing him. On the way out that evening, the 'Bongo Lady' called out:

"We didn't scare you off did we!?"

Oh, but she did...in a good way.

The next time we stumbled into The Inn Place it happened to be Karaoke Night. I'd never seen karaoke so bad...and I've seen bad karaoke. This was Bad Karaoke Taking Itself Very Seriously. There was real applause for these atrocious singers, high fives and comments like "Man, you really hit that tonight!', adoring spouses in the audience mouthing along with the singers....it was wonderful. It made me tingly with delight.

Pants is a Leo and as such is an attention whore. He adores karaoke and can't resist it whenever it's available. It starts as a joke, 'Wouldn't it be so funny if I sang 'Feel Like Making Love'?'

Then it becomes, "I know I could totally bring down the house with 'Ring Of Fire'."

Next thing you know he's up there singing away and loving every single minute of it. He's a bit of a showman.

I am not quite as inclined for karaoke, in fact I once boastfully claimed: "There simply is not enough alcohol in this world to make me do karaoke. Ever."

The Inn Place and a lot of alcohol changed all that with a God Damn Shania Twain song...a song I do not recall listening to before or since. I do not even remember the name. I do remember dramatically swinging the microphone in a move I like to call Around The World and trying to get the judgmental ladies in the front row to join in. They could plainly see I don't respect the Karaoke...and so they didn't respect me.

Our collective 'Karaoke Oops' happened one late night just after 9/11. We were feeling drunk and patriotic. An odd combination. Out of the Great Big Book Of Ways To Make A Jack Ass Of Yourself In Public we pulled 'Born In The USA'.

There were 10 of us. One would think there would be safety in numbers, there is not. The music started and I quickly realized I had not consumed enough alcohol to do this. I also realized, I did not know these lyrics at all. At. All. Except that catchy chorus....

As I read the lyrics monitor and tried to sing along I realized this is a horribly un patriotic song. My mouth started to hang open in horror at this sad sad song. I wanted to cry it was so sad....and so was the singing.

Someone from the audience jumped up from the bar and ran over to take the microphone and he joyfully sang about 'Killing The Yellow Man'. His horror at our lack of respect for The Karaoke was so great, he had to take matters into his own hands.

Since then I've effectively avoided karaoke, even over Labor Day....but I just can't stay away from The Inn Place.

French General

If you ever felt like buying me something you could just go here to pick pretty much anything.

I'd just pick something out for myself but as you are well aware this is the year of 'Fiscal Responsibility' and so I can't really do that.

I can pick a few things for you though.

Check out this stationary set, the labels are making me drool.

Is it sad that a notion box is filling me with joy? All those tiny compartments and all that stuff where it belongs...I crave neatness. If you wiped the asses of two children and one disgusting cat each and every day, you'd crave neatness to. It does count you know.

This is one of those things that I say, 'Wow, I could make those!' about, but I never do and I like to look at the pictures and torture myself, knowing that someone else got of their arse and made them. Same thing with these.

So, go on, look...if you can, buy. If not....welcome to my world.

God, this is funny.

Howard Dean as a crazy muppet.

via Mykull

Bimbo Conchas

My sister and I couldn't really be any more different....she's young and she wears all my pre kids clothing and when we go out to the bar everyone tries to pick her up, even if I happen to have my ring off for cleaning....it happened before I was married too. She isn't what you call 'versed' in child rearing or diaper changing (though she had a trial by fire the last time she babysat and Max shat a weeks worth in the 2 hours she was here) and these are the things I've pretty much built my life around.

But sometimes it's like we're still 8 and we share the same brain and the stupid things she finds funny...I think are hysterical too! She bought these, even though she can't eat them and she can barely pay her rent....and that totally makes sense to me because I am not sure who can afford not to buy a product from a company called 'Bimbo'.

And really saying "Bimbo Conchas!" over and over never gets old for us, at all. It's a verb and an adjective, an admonishment and a term of endearment.

She's all ours...

My sister informed me of this somewhat troubling conversation she had with our 5 year old the last time she babysat.

Maddie burped.

My sister said, 'What do polite people say when they do that?'

Maddie answered, 'Excuse me'

A few minutes later, she farted. Something my 5 year old has somehow managed to force herself to do. Nice.

My sister, again asked, 'What do you say when you do that?

Maddie looked quite puzzled and then answered, 'In my family we just laugh.'

Which is true, to a degree....but I thought I'd given her the script we use for the general public.

Not Leaving Without The Chair

The room we're staying in boasts (with many 'special characters') a lovely Aeron ©®™ chair.

I've decided I won't allow this seat to leave my arse the entire time we're here. I'm going to roll everywhere. I've decided if I could drive home in this chair I wouldn't want to gnaw my own arm off. I've decided this is the chair I didn't even know I dreamed of...it's too much.

We've had sex in the Aeron ®©™ Chair, I've even been sleeping in the Aeron ®©™ chair. It's like sleeping in the womb, like copulating in the air. It's amazing.

Sure, they're a little pricey. But I found one I can get for $36.83 a month! For sex in the air and fetal-like sleep? I'd pay twice that!

But since, as I've mentioned....a lot, it's The Year Of The Budget Living, maybe we'll just have to dismantle this thing and cart it out of here. Or maybe we can disguise it as a stroller....

The Long Road Into Hell

We're traveling to Indianapolis this weekend, I've mentioned the drive from Detroit to Indianapolis before.

Here are the directions copied from Mapquest:

1) Take I-94 until you reach I-69

2) Head south.

3) Drive until you kill your children, gnaw your arm off and gouge your eyeballs out.

4) Welcome to Indianapolis.

I hate this drive more than a lot of things in this world. What I hate the most is the disappointment I feel when we come up on I-69, a road that is not nearly as exciting as it's name implies, it's then that we realize we've been driving for quite a long time and really our journey into Indiana has only begun.

But we're going to celebrate a big event for my brother.

He's becoming a fireman at the age of 36. I'm pretty proud of him and pretty excited to see him get his badge on Friday night....I'm impressed he switched gears and followed his dream and as the oldest guy in the class is graduating fourth in his class.

I have a long and rambling post about how proud I am of my brother and the man he's become, but I'll save it for another time...when it's not so late and I'm not facing down a very long and very boring drive.

I plan on crying a lot Friday night, probably more than I even cry on the drive down. I only hope it's not that ugly contorted face cry I tend to do in public.

Wish me luck on all counts.

Pictionary For Cheaters.

We played Pictionary with our friends John and Julie.

John and I played on one team, Julie and Pants on the other. Now you wouldn't guess this from Julie's calm and kind exterior...but when under the influence of Pants...she cheats like you would not believe.

Perhaps it's because Julie and Pants are both artists and so they have a leg up on John and I.

Maybe they're psychically connected...maybe they're just really in tune with each other.

But forgive me for thinking they're CHEATERS. I don't think you can blame me when you look at this picture.

Now tell me what you see.

Logan drew this picture in about 3 seconds and before his pencil lifted off the pad of paper, Julie cried out....this word.

And if you tell me you knew exactly what he was drawing...then you're a liar and you cheat as bad as Julie and Pants.

John and I may get our asses kicked everytime we play Pictionary, but we're honest and we rule at Euchre.

King Martin Junior

Today my 5 year old said..."How many days until King Martin Junior day?"

I told her it was yesterday.

She said, "But we didn't do anything special."

I assume she is referring to the gifts of Jesusmas or perhaps the overblown meal of Thanksgiving. Now I'm feeling a little guilty about our lack of Festivus for King Martin Junior.

Truth be told we did go bowling yesterday, though I'm not sure there's any significance there. On Sunday we did have a small talk in the car about our skin color...and when she asked what color we were and I said we were white, she observed we're kind of yellow and pink. And I agreed.

Our neighbors are the only diverse people in our neighborhood (unless you count the smelly and nasty family down the street....they're different, but I'm not sure they're diverse). Not only is their house painted a very non comformist (and extremely ugly) combination of Urine Yellow and Shit Brown, they're also the only white lesbian senior citizen couple with black grandchildren, I have ever lived next door to.

Granted I live outside Detroit and we're still reeling from the effects of urban flight.

I love that she doesn't notice the horrendously bad taste of our neighbors with the sewage colored house. She doesn't question that they have two grandmothers living in the same house...she just calls them "Sarah's Gramma's"

I love that she notices the different color of Sarah's skin, but it really has no meaning beyond a descriptive sense.

I only hope I can preserve that for the next 10 years and by then everything will be firmly planted into her psyche.

Maybe by then we'll be living next to lots of different colored people with lots of different colored families and lots of different nasty sewage colored houses....scratch the last part.

I hope that someday, my daughter doesn't think of 'diversity' as a plus or a goal, but simply a reality of her life.

CHEESE, Cheese, cheese.

We went to my favorite party store in Ann Arbor last night on the way to see friends. I love it for a couple of reasons.

Penny candy.
Young men wearing blue lab coats...like pharmacists, serving up party supplies. Sometimes a party is the best medicine after all.
All sorts of gourmet food products, which I looked at longingly, but avoided due to the budget restrictions of 2004.

But most of all I love the sign in front which at first sounds very EXUBERANT about CHEESE! Then, a little less excited about Cheese. Finally, the sign quietly says, 'We have cheese...if you care.'

It seems so anticlimactic...like the anticipation should make your excitement for CHEESE grow as you think about the joys of cheese inside the Big Ten.

It also makes me think of the Big Ten Party Store as a house of porn for cheese lovers.

Like a sign exclaiming. Girls! Girls! Girls!

Big Ten exclaims. CHEESE! Except, again, it seems the excitement would grow.

Nice Smile

Everyone who sees Pants driver's licence says one of two things:

1) 'You have a soap opera name.'

2) 'Nice smile.'

He always smiles in the exact same way. Where I close my eyes and make myself look fat...Pants makes the exact same face in every picture.

Case in point.

The Summers Family Christmas Card Shoot: 2003

Here Are The Three Different Faces:
Pants makes the exact same face three times. In contrast, I try out fat, happy and crazy.

On an Up Note

I wish a year was like 'Seinfeld' and you could just end it when it was at it's prime.

The thing I noticed about 2003...was that it started on an upswing. After the torture of October, November and December 2002...I was ready to take on 2003 as a new woman.

And it really started out great. If I could have ended 2002 at say, the end of August, it would have been a banner year. But then September came and then in October my in laws found my blog and then....it was pretty fucking shitty the rest of the year.

If only I'd ended my year then, in September. But you know...then the thing is....you'd yearn for the previous year. You wouldn't want to say good bye. You'd be afraid of the next year. You'd say, 'This has been the best year of my life...I can't say good bye. Nothing will ever be this good.' 1997 was like that for me.

Instead...you look forward and you think...'Well, hell. This year sucked ass, next year couldn't be any worse...let's go!'

As an aside...living on this wacky new 2004 Budget...is going to make me skinny, I guarantee it. Dropping the 500 calories a day in Sierra Nevada Pale Ale is a diet technique no one ever mentions and might have been the missing link for me.

Heated Seats

My Nicer, Funnier Sister In Law needs a blog. Until she gets one (and steals half my material) I will shamelessly steal her emails for material.

She bought a new car from her dear friend who relocated to New York City...where the car's parking space cost as much per month as the first apartment Pants and I shared. Which is good to know really, because if we ever relocate to NYC, I know the exact parking garage we can live in.

The best feature about the new car is the heated seats. For weeks the emails from Nicer Funnier Sister in Law have ended with things like:

It's 10 below and I have two words for that: Heated. Seats.

She also mentioned in one of these emails the idea of strapping the heated seat right to her arse while she walks the dog in these subzero temps.

While out shoveling the acres of concrete surrounding my home the other day, in between pondering how many blow jobs I'd have to offer for a winter's worth of snowplowing I also thought how much more pleasant the experience (of shoveling, not oral sex...although maybe a heated seat would make that nicer too) would be with a heated seat strapped to my ass. Sure, it would add unpleasant bulk to my behind and all the neighbors would look out their windows saying:

Honey, look there's that crabby lady on the corner. Wow, she's really added some bulk.

But really what price comfort?

(As an answer to the blow job question: Too Many.)

I've had a couple fun experiences with heated seats. The one that stands out is the time I was getting a ride home after babysitting. The dad had cranked the seats up to make the ride more comfortable, but then he forgot to turn them down. So we're driving along and I'm starting to get uncomfortably warm.

This happened to a friend once on a first date and she started to ponder the reality that she'd peed her pants while driving along in a car with someone she just met.

I was about 13 and I pondered these possibilities as my ass began to sizzle:

*I had a fever in my ass.
*I had developed an unexpected attraction to the dad driving me home and it was manifesting itself with a warm and tingly feeling on my butt.
*The car was on fire and burning up through the seat.

Ask me why I didn't just say: "Hey, this seat feels really warm."

I was a horribly gawky and nervous teenager and speech did not come smoothly out of my mouth. Besides, what would I say?

Uh, Mr M.? I think I have a fever in my ass or else I'm oddly attracted to you and my butt is on fire as a result."

So I endured...but I guess not without squirming.

I can only imagine what Mr M. was thinking seeing me squirming in my seat next to him...probably that I was about to pee my pants in his car.

Suddenly the smell of burning flesh hit him and he realized the seat was deep frying my behind.

So, as it happens....

If you want to live debt free, apparently you have to first pay off your debts and then you have to spend within your means.

If I'd realized this I may not have agreed to this New Year's Resolution. I might have gone with something a little simpler, like Plooble did when he decided to be more superficial.

Instead, I agreed to this form of torture.

Tonight I've poured over 4 weekly grocery store sales flyers and created cross referenced lists of things we normally use and the best advertised prices and coupons I can use....and I've a headache. So far I have 13 stores to visit to get the very best deals on all the items I fill my pantry with.

When I mentioned the notion of 'budgeting' to the women in my knitting class...you'd have thought I said...

'My husband and I have decided to try out a crack addiction. We really think crack will bring us closer together and I think being a crack whore is something I'd like to try. I really think I'd be good at it.'

The blank stares...as though they'd never been faced with a BUDGET

I do understand their horror at hearing it. Imagine my horror at living it.

Sure, it could be worse....we are blessed. Blabbity bla bla bla....

Have you looked at this week's Target circular? Do you see all the temptation there?

I haven't wanted to force potty training on my son...but now all I see everytime I change his diaper is dollars. Go ahead, get a dollar out of your wallet right now, pee on it and then throw it in the garbage.

This is my life.

If I Was Better At This.

It's finally snowing a lot. A Lot. When we moved into our house we thought how lucky we were to get a corner lot. When we got a $200 gift certificate to Home Depot as a housewarming gift from Pants bosses...someone suggested we buy a snow blower. We said,

"A snowblower? It hardly ever snows!'

That first winter it snowed and snowed and we shoveled a lot of snow. Generally it doesn't snow a lot but sometimes it does and I really hate to shovel all that sidewalk...it never seems to end...and then there's the driveway and the walkway to the side porch and the walkway to the front porch....so much shoveling. Miles and miles of concrete.

I watched my neighbor across the street drive up on his lunch break. He pulled out his snowblower...and in the time it took me to shovel just the walkway up to my porch, he'd done his driveway, sidewalk...and had loaded the snowblower into his car and off he went to help someone else out.

He never offered to help me.

But then I remembered I've called the police on him several times. There was the evening last winter where he drove his 'monster truck' back and forth on his sidewalk at 12:30 am....back and forth, revving his engine. It wasn't very neighborly of me and I guess I sacrificed snowblower help by calling the authorities on his insanity.

If I was better at this he would have offered to snowblow my sidewalks.

Also, if I was better at this I would have remembered that today my afternoon kindergartener was scheduled to go to school in the morning. In a state of panic I decided I would have to get the children out of the house...but I'd sent Pants to work in my truck so that I wouldn't go anywhere and spend money.

Kids like snow and I needed to shovel since I haven't been very neighborly and no one will be snowblowing my walk for me.

I swear to God I have the wimpiest children ever. I remember playing in the snow for hours and hours as a child.

After 10 minutes my daughter was standing at the back door crying to go inside....but she couldn't since it takes me about 35 hours to shovel all the God Damn Concrete surrounding our homestead.

Four different times my almost 3 year old son fell in the snow and simply could not figure out how to stand up. So there he laid in the snow screaming 'HELP!!!!!!' He was also entirely perplexed by a small step up he would have to navigate in order to get into the side yard. So he stood at the gate crying.

Sometimes there's this really mean voice in my head...it's a very non motherly voice and it makes me question God's decision to allow me to breed and it says things like:

You have GOT to be fucking kidding me!

If I was better at this that mean voice wouldn't say things like that.

And now it's naptime, only no one's napping and no one's even being very quiet....and it's only 2:20 in the afternoon and there's still 3 more hours until reinforcements (read: Pants) arrive and by that time I'm going to have to shovel more snow because it's still coming down.....

It's too bad it's the 'Year of Fiscal Responsibility' because I'd be at Sears buying this.

Is it wrong that I'm considering offering sexual favors in exchange for regular snowblowing?

Budgets and Porn

As I've mentioned before the 'theme' of my year is: "Debt No More In 2004"

The reality of this sentence has been a little 'upsetting' for me. I feel a little like a screaming newborn, cold and wet ripped from my 'Happy Place' where debt is simply a part of life and 'Well, it's not that bad' is a justification that makes sense.

I knew that being a stay at home mother would require some sacrifice, I just didn't realize it meant I would have to drink Michelob Ultra and never eat sushi for the next 10 years.

I'm a little thrown by this new reality and I'm just not sure how I'll be able to absorb it all.

In an attempt to make me feel a little better, my Nicer, Funnier Sister in Law shared a little something she found while cleaning her basement this weekend. She thought it might help, but it hasn't actually helped at all.

Not since the 'Penile Implant Revelation of 2000' have I been so boldly slapped in the face with my dead grandfather's sexuality. That story came during a long evening of drinks and euchre and my brother told the story with a look of anticipation, he reveled in the look of horror which crossed my face as I realized there was no punch line. That in fact, the punch line was that my grandfather had a penile implant. My brother also seemed strangely relieved not to be carrying the full burden of this information any longer.

So, yesterday, my sister in law was clearing out the crap out of the basement and found a box full of memorabilia from my mother's home. A baby book for my younger sister, with just the first 3 pages filled in...the rest left blank as though my mother said, 'Jesus, this is exactly the same as the crap I wrote the last 2 times....she can just read it in there.'

Next to the baby book was a crudely homemade book with the title, written in child like script on the cover: 'Sexual Revival For Abandoned Parents'. I'll spare you the horrifying details of the inside of this book but let's just call it soft core porn.

Keep in mind I'm reading some outtakes from this book, wondering how my brother got it in a box of his memorabilia, having no clue who the author is. Until the end of the email....

"Inside the cover is typed Copyright 1970, EVBOB Publications and on the front it reads Book By [My Grandfather's Name] and [His Longtime Lady Friend's Name]"

Let me explain to you what I've been absorbing all day long.

My grandfather and his lady friend wrote soft core porn together.

I'm not entirely sure the ramifications of this have hit me yet. I mean, on the one hand...God love him, he was a sexual being right up to the end. On the other hand.

Ewh.

Wow.

This little story has my mouth hanging open incredulously, the way it does whenever something shocks and outrages me. Like when the cable bill arrives, my Airport turns off and on for no apparent reason or my daughter insists on wearing tights with sandals...no matter what the weather.

I can't speak about it in any intelligent way, but she and so can he.

First I worried my in laws would sue me for defamation and now I have to worry that some psychotic moron is going to plagiarize me? Granted, there's not a whole lot for him to copy...but perhaps he also wore a pair of Red Shoes to school one day...just like I did.

Suggestion Mr Lamb, stop.

Quite Busy...

I can't say really what is keeping me busy...but my brain seems unconnected.

So, for now, I'll simply be sharing some links and a few random thoughts.

The Summers have declared 'Debt No More In 2004' and this time we really mean it. Seriously.

One of the ways I am saving money is giving Pants the truck to drive to work so I'm trapped at home with his piece of shit car. I have to be quite desperate to drive around in his car with my two kids. Driving around with the kids in that car makes me feel like I'm still in high school, only this time I got knocked up and am cooly toting around a 2 year old and a 5 year old.

As nice as it would have been to be a teenage mother, I'm not and I hate driving around in that car. Bless my husband's heart for driving that thing into the ground so we can scrape by with just one car payment.

Anyway, being trapped at home renders me unable to drop by Target and find $100 worth of 'necessities'. What I like to do instead is shop online....without a credit card in sight.

Here's today's offering.

Tinsel Trading

Ribbon, vintage buttons, and appliques.

If this wasn't the year of fiscal responsibility, I could do some damage here. But maybe you've always been fiscally responsible...if so, browse, enjoy, shop...buy and let me live vicariously.

Handy Flashcards...

I'd have bought these as a Christmas gift, if I'd been aware of their existence.

Screw all this 'Phonics' crap, we're using slang flashcards with our kindergartener.

Take a closer look here:

Uhm, Beerzie, when you come back, you'll want to look at these for additions to the list.

Found via Real Simple

Suddenly Free.

I've been busy all week stressing over a lot of details for the party I was to throw Saturday.

But, I was relieved of those tasks yesterday at 6pm.

The party is cancelled.

Mark my words, I will never again host a shower as long as I live.

Mark. My. Words.

I love happy endings.

Remember Clarence?

He's home!

I hope that little girl has been able to sleep without him all this time! Yikes.

Christmas Gift Review

A few gifts really hit the mark this year. Oddly enough they were all from my brother and his lovely wife.

First of all, the 'Dirty Girl Ashtray'.

It's hard to explain how this ashtray works, but it held the attention of all male members of the family for quite some time with it's swinging legs.

Even Wee Maxwell considered changing his sexual orientation because of the hypnotic display of the Dirty Girl's swinging legs.

The Dirty Girl made our Christmas magical.

In the late 80's there was this 'Band', although I use the term loosely. They had quite a following of young girls and I was a young girl so I followed too. In my defense, I never started a website, nor did I send a fan letter and I didn't even feel comfortable enough to hang a poster in my room. Instead I secretly lusted after my favorite from a secret poster hung on the back wall of my closet, behind the clothes...where I could sneak a glance from time to time.

It was fine, until one day my brother found the poster and outted me as, literally, a closet New Kids On The Block fan. I was horrified and still am to this day. He outted me again this year by giving me this. An actual article about a New Kids Comeback...and yes, it is signed by all of them...even that guy who killed Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense.

There was a time in my life when this gift would have made me literally wet my pants and weep at the same time. Getting it this year just made me make this really stupid face.

As an aside, isn't this a terribly amusing oxymoron? 'Greatest' being the key word.

To make up for making fun of me with the NKOTB gift, my brother and his wife sent me here and I have my official New Year's resolution all ready now. Weekly, okay bi weekly massages. Rachel has the hands of an angel and this was the gift which nearly made me weep and wet my pants.

Times Square NYE...

Go here and look around new years eve in Times Square. Look for the girl in the knit hat looking up into the confetti but not kissing anyone.

Something about her touches me.

Link via Last Call.

Why must i do this to myself?

I am suffering through a terrible round of the 'Irish Flu' today.

I hope I didn't behave as poorly last night as I feel today.

I think I might be dying....and I did it all to myself.

Happy New Year! WTF?