So there I was at home, on Friday night clipping my toenails and listening to Guns and Roses' Paradise City when I had an epiphany.
What, in God's name I thought, was a relatively young-oh by the way this is my 100th post, yay me--single woman doing giving herself a pedicure when she should be out tearing up one of the world's greatest cities?
And then I remembered. . See this ol' gal to the right? This is how I feel after I tear anything up, much less after throwing back a few cocktails and staying out past my bedtime of 10 p.m. To those rock stars who can go out four and five nights a week, make it to work, and who aren't still being claimed on someone else's taxes, I say: you go, this Christian Rock Star is staying home.
But I'm kind of a forgetful person and Sunday night I attended a work dinner out in a suburb. I think the town was called Timbuktubrook? Anyway, since I had missed Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy, I thought it best to go out with a co-worker and her fiance once we got back in the city.
Let's just say a hangover exacerbated by that daylight savings bullshit, made for a less-than-sunny Monday morning for me.
I've truly earned the number one Google result when you search "degenerate alcoholic."