New Year's Eve:
So, we got to the hotel and checked in and hung out with our friends, munching and drinking. I drank probably 5 or 6 shots of Mandarin Absolute, but somehow was only pleasantly buzzed by the time the cab arrived to take us to the club. I looked hot, by the way. I haven’t looked “good” for a long time, and I’m not as skinny as I’d like to be yet, but I still put together an outfit that played up the good and disguised the bad. Knee high black, heeled boots with a black skirt that had a diagonal hem and a really sexy see through shirt with a little camisole thingy…and I was even having a good hair day!! Yee haw! I love it when I look good!! Of course, I had my bar goggles on, but who cares???? So, we got there, and settled into our “VIP” booth, and picked out some fantastic masks and played with the noise makers, and started in on the complimentary bottle of champagne and then headed to the vip lounge to have sushi and then danced and drank and danced and drank and Husband and I ended up so god damn drunk it’s frightening. I have never been this hung over before. I’m not really sure how it happened because I was only a little drunk when I got to the club, and I only drank a couple of glasses of champagne… We had a great night, and I’d have to say it was worth it, but holy shit on a stick, batman! I wanted to throw up and Husband actually did, and I don’t know how we made it home this morning. And finally it was naptime and I put the boys to bed and I slept for 3 hours and woke up feeling marginally better. Oh yeah, and all night when I’d wake up to pee and all morning until I got home, eminem’s newest song was in my head…”it’s back to reality, oh there goes gravity oh he’s so mad but he won’t give up that easy…” I wanted to scream. But that would have hurt my head. It was the most miserable I’ve ever felt in my life. I don’t think I’ll ever feel the need to drink again…or at least to get drunk…well, okay, just not that drunk.

I’m super fucking depressed today, for no apparent reason. Probably hormones. Listening to depressing music and in the five minutes that I wasn’t sad, I started working on an idea for another book. I think it could be a good-ish one. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I am so god damn homesick—THAT’s why I’m depressed. Duh. I’m not very smart sometimes. I want to go home. Dammit.

Oh lordy—my parents’ yard...I am so being taken back to high school by the shudders that just ran up my spine!!! My Dad’s penchant for white-trash landscaping was the source of much social angst for my sister and me!! She went so far as to have dates drop her off at our neighbor’s house (their daughter was my best friend, so at least they knew us…) and then she would walk home. I was never quite that bad, but man I always dreaded having a guy see where I lived. I like to think I’m nothing close to white trash—what with the high I.Q., lack of Maine accent, and maternal grandparents who were doctors…but man I think that yard alone qualifies me in a big way!!