I'm a wee drunky.
Or something.
Happy birthday to everybody's favorite sheriff, Harry S. Truman of Twin Peaks, WA. And David, too. Today, right? I didn't forget, I'm just a wee bit drunk. Just a wee tad. And if today's the wrong day, well, I'm close and I sort of have an excuse.
Vodka. And orange juice.
(happy birthday, David)
So I've got this really yucky rashy thing on my neck. It looks like huge scary burns. Jeff says it looks like ringworm. My mom says that ringworm doesn't mean you have real worms inside you -- like, for example, heartworm or tapeworm. She said it's fungus. Like athlete's foot. Or toadstools. Susan said it just looked like a giant hicky. It isn't a giant hicky. I haven't had a hicky since March. The last time I had a GIANT hickey was January of 1999. Hm. Must be the beginning of a toadstool.
I have doctor's appointment tomorrow. They're going to swab my cervix. Funfunfun! I'm getting the whole thing videotaped so I can upload it and we can all watch how FUN it all is!
(If the giant hickey came along with the swabbing, the adventure might seriously be worth it, but you know...)
I'm bored. And unsettlingly horny. Also, my typing skills have improved. How I love vodka. And orange juice.
Jeff finally got his boss to realize I like him. I've been hitting on the guy for weeks and it took Derek's infinite subtlety to make him REALLY understand: "Um, you know my housemate? She really likes you." According to reports, he turned red and seemed shocked, but not actually repulsed or anything. Please! How could anybody be repulsed by ME? Especially somebody who listens to heavy metal.
No more drinking for Helena. Helena is singing Whitney Houston and was flashing the neighbors earlier.
Oh gahd. Goodnight.
~Carebear*
"Drunk last night, drunk the night before, gonna get drunk tonight like a dirty ghetto whore..." --Jeff and me, singing the Ghetto Palace Drunk Anthem.