October 5th, 2001


Me and Ice Don't Mix.

I can't seem to drink out of cups with ice in them. I love ice, and I insist that all of my drinks have ice in them. However, on those last few crucial sips that involve practically upending the cup, I end up with the ice having fallen onto my face and the beverage all over my shirt.

It's Friday Morning, You Know What That Means

Yes folks, I’ve got a hangover. The long and the short of it is that drinks at Heaven last night really crept up on me and I found myself wasted after my third vodka cran, stumbling around Adams Morgan and sending the size-of-my-head-pizza slice back the way it came around 3am. I slid out of bed at 8:30, managed to be on the road to work at nine and in the office with an egg and cheese at 9:15. I have had two huge glasses of water and I’m hungry again.

The conclusion I have come to is not that I am never going to drink again (I have NEVER uttered that ridiculous statement, by the way), but that I’m never dancing in public again. Last time we went out I poked myself in the eye. Last night I fell off one of those little stage thingys. I was up there making a bumping and grinding fool out of myself with some guy and unbeknownst to me, there was a 10 inch gap between the stage and the wall. I took a step back and my right foot sank about two feet down, the only thing breaking my fall was my shin. I managed to get up with little fanfare, my fellow grind-bumper for some strange reason no longer wanted to dance with me so I hobbled back to the table. Not only am I bleary-eyed, oogy-tummied and slow today, but I’m limping with a cut and a bump on my shin. Fan tastic.
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