Hey, I dumped two bottles of wine down the drain tonight.
Okay, one was an alcohol-free rose from before Lily was born, and the other was an okay red we'd managed half of before it went off. (As an observation, in our carefree childless days, we'd have finished the bottle in one night, two at most. In a week, we managed to go through slightly less than half of this bottle and that was with effort. It's the not going back for seconds that stretches the thing out.)
But still. I should not be blamed for tempting people to the dark side of drink.
The dark side of drinking is not PMM's fault.
It is officially pronounced, hereby.
Because I am the official pronouncer of such things.
The very thought of of laying down to sleep is putting me into a cold sweat.
All Gus. All the time. Welcome to Buffistas.
This is the place where we notice that AJ Langer was "that girl" from
My So-Called Life
and
Escape from L.A.,
and where we bemoan the passing of
Eyes
for this solitary reason.
This is a school-night Sunday. However, I am going to rap onward, ignoring any board culture about serial posts. Sooner or later, someone is going to say something about something real, and it might as well be in Buffistas late-night as anywhere else.
It would be me, if I had the skills. My talent, however, is to be provocative.
No crap. The bed is full of warm, fragrant lady, a lady that can only be described as "inviting", and I am juking around here.
My brain is bent.
One-thirty on Monday morning on the US West Coast. Even the board Australians are are doing other stuff.
That's it. I am cursing you all with a Monday, because I am vindictive like that.
Board time: 1:46AM
Gus time: 3:46 AM
Gus' employer time: 7:46 PM
Time sucks.
The fact that I am an insomniac that has been posting all night on a number of boards does not in any way diminish the fact that I have a conference call in about fifteen minutes in a language I learned imperfectly in my fifties.
I am so thoroughly fucked that there may be a prize for it.
