Wasted

I did unspeakable things this weekend. OK, I didn't do anything as bad as this, but for me, it was pretty bad. And I am turning over a new leaf because spending Sunday prostrate on the couch, sweating alcohol, smelling like a dog, and stewing in my own filth as I watch tepid murder mysteries on the Hallmark Movie channel is not something I want to do again. Did I have fun? Oh hells yes I had fun. I had a fucking blast and I don't know when last I enjoyed myself so much. But you know what, behaving like a full on hedonist comes with a price and one that I don't want to pay again. Staying up until 5:30 in the morning? What the fuck was that about? Sleeping until 5:30 in the evening to make up for it? Ingesting anything and everything? What the fuck, girl, who are you? So, in an effort to avoid ever feeling like Lindsay Lohan again, I'm going to morph into a reasonable human being again.

Because really, I keep thinking about the debauchery of this weekend and I shake my head and think "really?" And on the off chance that my husband, J, stumbles across this I will just say, for the record, that there was nothing sexual in this lost, wasted weekend. The old girl is still boarded up and out of business.

Oh, and one fun thing: I spoke to a guy who is from Denmark but who has lived in the states so long that he has his Danish accent but sounds like he's from Warren, Ohio. It's like a French person having their French accent but with a southern twang.  And dude is something like 46 years old and firmly believes that he could go to a college football team and be a walk-on kicker.