Dear Hangover from Saturday Night
It's Tuesday. You can go now. Thanks!
Saturday we went up to our friends' ranch in the Santa Ynez Valley intending just to stay for the afternoon. Sometime around 4:00 Sunday morning, when I stumbled into an unfamiliar bathroom with a borrowed maxipad glued to my thong and upended a glass of water that still smelled like thirty-four-year-old scotch, I realized that maybe we should have stuck to the original plan. But it's hard to stay organized after the fifth bottle of wine and you've let your son draw all over your face:
That's a glass of red and a glass of white in front of me. God, but we all had a good time.
In the morning, Jackson and Sophie went to shake down some chickens.
Farm fresh eggs are really, really yellow inside but despite how everyone raves over their fantastic taste these eggs were a little too real for me. A little too farmy. I have the same feeling about the ocean, it's way too primal, too many millenia of carnage hath wrought that salty, seaweedy, life-and-death smell and most summers you'll find me planted in the sand with People magazine, or not even making the ONE MILE DRIVE TO THE WORLD'S SAFEST BEACH, instead spending the day at a heated, sanitary, non-shark-infested pool.
Right now I'm warming M&Ms; in my belly button. I like to pinch them between my fingers until they crack before I eat them. I just invented this warming technique and I recommend it.
With the excellent help of Rachel the NaBloPoMo participant list is now alphabetical and easily referenced. I am still running through the comments barefoot and adding more links to the page, so wait at least another day before sending me threatening e-mails about how I still haven't linked you. Also, like a genius, I finally changed the comment setting so you can notify me of your url without creating or signing into a Blogger account. I know, it only took me five days to wake up to that little stumbling block. Sorry, kids.
I also backed out on some of the prizes because I'm broke at the moment and can't afford to start giving away sweatshirts whose base price is still pretty high (now I know why I've avoided using Cafe Press). So it's either a hat or a mug for you, my five lucky winners chosen at random. I'll tell you what, though, if some of those shirts actually sell I'll change it back to giving five people whatever they want from the NaBloPoMo Shop, but I don't plan on running this thing at a loss. Baby still needs winter boots.
There are hundreds of people participating in this thing right now and I have no idea why. Seriously, I've been to most of your sites and you all seem like intelligent people with nice looking blogs, I'd never have guessed that you'd be so quick to jump over this Internet cliff with me. But I do enjoy having your company.
Dialogue of the Damned, part XXVII
Jack (opening cabinet under kitchen sink where a paper grocery bag accepts recyclables): "What the hell is this?"
Me: "What? You don't like that I crammed a whole bunch of stuff into an overflowing bag and then shut the door real quick so it wouldn't fall out until the next person opened it?"
Jack: "I hate you with all of my heart."
Me: "You have no idea how much personal growth it took for me to admit having done something that lazy. It was lazy, by the way, and not passive aggressive."
Jack: (*long-suffering sigh*)
Me: "Do you think if I drink more my hangover will go away?"