The Best Part is, You Always Win

I took 2 Advil PM forty-five minutes ago, and am only just now beginning to feel drowsy.

Before you accuse me of being a pill-popping weirdo, know that the taking of the pills (while awesome and all but guaranteeing that the Evil Kitties will not be waking me as usual at 515 am with their combo attack of "litter box scritchitchy scratch loud loud LOUD" mixed with "dresser top jewelery-heave! Ho! On the floor! Rattle rattle!") is actually medically warranted this fine evening.

Why, you ask?

Becuase St. Patrick's Day happened, that's why. And apparently being 27 means your body is not really all that amenable anymore to "428 Drinks + Icy sidewalks = Falling directly on one's huge ass, which does nothing to cushion the fall like you'd think." If I were 22, none of this would be happening.

Yesterday, not only did my whole body hurt from my monstrous hangover, it hurt from my one woman performance of "Fat Chick On Ice." I've done...something to my back, which appears to also be affecting both legs, both wrists, both shoulders and every tendon and muscle in my neck.

(The good news is, I slammed a shot of Jameson in front of tablefull of men, who were very impressed when I didn't even flinch or gag or make a face or reach for my beer to chase it...the bad news is, I slammed a shot of Jameson after a cherry bomb, Jager bomb, and several suspicious drinks called, and I'm serious, "Liquid Panty Removers." I don't even know how I brought myself to even order one, considering I find the word "panties" to be one of the grossest words in the English language, right up there with "crampons.")

Anyhow, I'm officially babbling incoherently, so I guess that means it's time to hit the hay (or fall face first into the hay in an over the counter narcotics-induced haze).