hangover warning advisory system: code blue and dropping

PHF is the Best Husband in the World (sorry everyone else, thanks for playing). He let me sleep in until 9:30, spent much time taking down Christmas decor (the house feels nekked), and he's folded laundry today. So much for THAT resolution. With any luck, tonight he'll be the Best Husband in the Universe.

Much happier today. I'm on beer number one, (The very thought of it doesn't make me want to hurl which is a major improvement over yesterday.) whiskey is in my near future (hey, it's the weekend, I won't be breaking that one until tomorrow.) and I got in a decent workout. Over 200 abs. Funny enough, I didn't hate them as much as usual. Huh. Maybe I'm maturing a little bit. It would be about time.

Nah. I'm sure I'll go back to hating them tomorrow. My stomach still isn't flat and teenageresque, either. Goddamn pregnancies. Should have adopted.

Saw BSG (I know I changed his name once, but Big Scary Guy seems to stick) at the gym, and it's been awhile. He must have been out on a "mission", though I haven't heard of any dead despots in the news lately. But then, if he did things right, it wouldn't hit the news, of course. He's bigger than ever, and his smile still makes him look like he's thinking, "Come here, a little closer, yeah, that's right, now you're close enough to kill real quiet-like." Either that or he's constipated. In either case, smiling for him requires some effort. Perfect V. Easy on the eyes, for an older, well-trained killer type, but I sure as hell wouldn't sass him, and you know I'll sass anybody.

Gee, I'm a little jealous of all those "Best of Blog" nominees. Not that I don't hope they win, Monkey, and Jason, and Johnnie Walker (huh, I hope they aren't up against each other - now that would be awkward). I just am wishing it was me. I hope they quit saying "It's just an honor to be nominated." What utter bullshit, so knock it off. Ya wanna win. We all know it, so why pretend? Good luck, all.

A word of advice for any would be parents out there: when the balloon place asks you if you want the 8-hour balloons or the longer-laster balloons - you want the 8 hour ones. We have 12 green balloons that WILL NOT DIE! I'm about to go after them with a switchblade. Yeah, I've got an actual switchblade, and I'm not afraid to use it. (Well, on balloons, that is.)

Cheers.

ps Krypto, my parenthetical use just looks all fucked up. I mean, does the comma go before or after the parentheses?? Do I capitalize in the parentheses? HELP!! (You little hurling hottie-pie, you.) Thanks for the link, btw. I don't know how long it's been there, but I just saw it.

Side note to my other readers - Krypto, quit reading here - I only have to lean forward to reach my copy of Strunk and White to check out the parenthetical (Is that even a word, for crissake?? I keep using it like it is.) usage rules, but once I saw that face... Well, needless to say I live for his comments. I must flirt with him on a daily basis. Besides, his was the first good blog I ever read.