You know what’s a bush league move? Drinking half a bottle of wine, then a beer, then half a bottle of champagne, and then another beer and expecting to go to sleep without the room spinning out of control.
Know who made that bush league move last night? Me. Which means that, before I could fall asleep, I had to make the most mature decision of the night and make myself hurl. I haven’t had to do that in a long time – so long that I barely remember it, but I think it must have involved margaritas and also I must have been living in St. Louis – and if nothing else, then at least the discomfort of the spins coupled with older age makes hurling a lot easier than it was when I was 25 and drooling over a toilet thinking “I would be a terrible bulimic.”
It’s magic, it’s gross but it works, and I got a decent night’s sleep that could have lasted longer had I not experienced an 8am half asleep panic over whether or not I had any coffee downstairs, so I woke up, washed my face, cleaned the litter box, and saw a tutorial on how to moonwalk so I practiced that for a few minutes. FYI – it is hard to moonwalk on carpet.
I’m sort of planning to walk over to Goodwill today to maybe buy a few shirts for…something. Something I can’t talk about just yet, but it’s something I’m very excited about to the point where I feeling like jumping up with my fist in the air and exclaiming “Everything’s comin’ up Milhouse!” Excited to the point that I dare not actually do this because there’s no way this kind of good fortune comes my way and there has to be a catch, like maybe I’ll unexpectedly die before it comes to pass, or this is all a big “SIKE, SUCKA!” or something even worse will happen, like the incessant boat horns I’ve been hearing all fucking morning down in the shipping channel are a sinister seaman’s warning about a waterborne zombie apocalypse (instead of some asshole yacht owner pissed that no one’s raising the bridge for him).
So I’m hoping I’ll be this:
Even though I’m fully prepared for this: