Alcoholic Blogger Dork

Yes, that would be me. Okay, I'm not really an alcoholic but somewhere in the infinite wisdom I possess, I found it justifiable to split two bottles of wine with my former roommate last night. Effectively each drinking our own bottle.

Today has been a relative disaster. Unable to rouse myself to any passable state before 2pm, I had to cancel a hair appointment. I don't even want to go into all of the gory details of what was taking place during the time I was supposed to be getting pampered by my French stylist, Francis. ("frawn cease" for those of you who care). Suffice it to say, I only managed to be at peace with three small pieces of tofu and a quarter cup of Sprite. This modicum of success came only after I was forced to implement a tofu eating strategy. I cut small slices and ate one, slowly. Then, I set my microwave timer for ten minutes. Once a full ten minutes passed with relative calm, I gave myself permission to pursue further consumption. Like this, I managed to take 30 minutes to eat three very thin slices of tofu.

You know you're a dork when after getting sloshed on wine in a chic bar, all you want is to tell people about your blog. Ouch. That is a cold harsh reality. I was surprised to be so... committed but then again, what I love about blogging is how much you get to talk about yourself so maybe this is not so inconsistent after all.

The alcoholic part comes in the form of pissing off DSF rather profusely by insisting I speak to all passersby on the way home and ask them the all important question, "Do you think the Sox will win or lose tomorrow?" Now, I know I have a problem when I don't give a rats ass about sports and I need to talk to cab drivers and whomever else to get to the bottom of this question. The results of the survey were in favor of a loss. I'm thinking this is because people assumed I was a fan (who else but a Red Sox fan could be capable of such jackassedness right? I mean, it was a Wednesday night...). Put out by my insistence they answer the question in some fashion their answer necessitated falling on the side of whatever answer would be negative in my eyes. Maybe. Or maybe they really thought the Sox would lose.

So, though I had the brilliance to combat the nausea with Dramamine, I'm feeling rather dull now (don't you think it's ironic that the word drama is embedded in that name - like, it actually says, "Drama, mine." My drama. How fittingly ironic. What a cruel joke. Eh... I deserve it). By now you're probably thinking DSF is a saint, and you know what? I'm pretty sure he is. He even has the same birthday as Pope John Paul. Put that in your all knowing pipe and smoke it bitches.