Yesterday, I took my dear friend LJ down to the Lower East Side on a school night, where we allowed cute, cute Paul to pour booze down our gullets until we barely knew our names. You know you've lost your goddamned mind when tequila shots seem like a good idea. Hard as it may be to believe, this was actually the right thing to do. LJ, after all, was here from Denver just for the day, and he's going through some brutally crappy stuff, and we hadn't seen each other in a couple of years. It was wonderful to hang out with him again, and we had a great deal of fun, to the best of my recollection. (Did I mention that Paul is cute? He is. Really cute. ) All in all, it was a pretty awesome time.
Until 6 AM, that is, when I barfed in the shower.
It's after 2 PM now, and I'm still not at all sure that I'll get through the workday without doing it again. Barfing, that is, not acting like a lunatic.
There will be no more leaving the house.