Aww. Man. Don't even want to get outta bed today. Last night started out well. In theory.
Let me set the scene. St. Patrick's Day. Tuesday. East Village. I'm out having a few drinks with my roommate and his date. They're having dinner, I'm next door downing a few pints of Guinness. They join me awhile later.
I'm a little buzzed...nothing serious. They have a few drinks with me. I decide to shift gears and GET THIS PARTY STARTED! ...uhhh. My stomach. OK. So I order a couple of shots. Let's get into the spirit of things, huh people?
Well...not sure of much what followed. Apparently I was running up and down 2nd Ave singing old Irish chanteys and kissing complete strangers. The rest of the night is a blur.
This morning...all I can say is I've had better days.
Oh no. That treatment is due tomorrow! Shit. Oh man...My head.
P.S. I'm not even going to attempt a rebuttal to one of my readers who suggested I be more "considerate" and walk out of the room before "ripping a smelly one" (in that readers words). Do you think this is something I'm proud of?
But yes. I guess I could be more considerate.