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Have succumbed to Martian Death Flu. Please to send NyQuil, ginger tea, and pretty tattooed Irishmen to take care of me.
(I can’t reference NyQuil without thinking of Denis Leary’s No Cure For Cancer - ‘I love NyQuil. Man, I love it! I love it. I love it. I love it. It's the best thing shit ever invented. Isn't it, huh? I love the name alone. NyQuil - Capital N, small Y, big fucking Q! I love that fucking Q, don't you!? What a great advertising idea! Put a huge fucking Q on the box. They'll get high and stare at it. "The Q is talking to me! The Q is talking to me!"’ I really need to get that DVD.)
The suckiest thing is that for the past two nights I have been a good girl; I have taken my drugs and gone to bed and not gone out at all, not even to say ‘hi’ to everyone. And unlike the mornings after the nights that I have gone out, I have been late to work on the mornings after the nights I’ve behaved. This is not a positive reinforcement of good behavior here. It tempts me to go out and have a few shots of Fernet – what the hell, it’s supposed to have restorative properties, right? (It actually does help settle the stomach, it just tastes revolting. Nonetheless, I’d like to try the original, pre-1978, more opiates version.)
This weekend, I am going out come hell or high water. I have a haircut tomorrow afternoon, and I am meeting cool people for the wandering of Chinatown and the watching of the Lunar New Year Parade. Gung Hay Fat Choy!
Also, the Olympics start today. V. exciting.
(I can’t reference NyQuil without thinking of Denis Leary’s No Cure For Cancer - ‘I love NyQuil. Man, I love it! I love it. I love it. I love it. It's the best thing shit ever invented. Isn't it, huh? I love the name alone. NyQuil - Capital N, small Y, big fucking Q! I love that fucking Q, don't you!? What a great advertising idea! Put a huge fucking Q on the box. They'll get high and stare at it. "The Q is talking to me! The Q is talking to me!"’ I really need to get that DVD.)
The suckiest thing is that for the past two nights I have been a good girl; I have taken my drugs and gone to bed and not gone out at all, not even to say ‘hi’ to everyone. And unlike the mornings after the nights that I have gone out, I have been late to work on the mornings after the nights I’ve behaved. This is not a positive reinforcement of good behavior here. It tempts me to go out and have a few shots of Fernet – what the hell, it’s supposed to have restorative properties, right? (It actually does help settle the stomach, it just tastes revolting. Nonetheless, I’d like to try the original, pre-1978, more opiates version.)
This weekend, I am going out come hell or high water. I have a haircut tomorrow afternoon, and I am meeting cool people for the wandering of Chinatown and the watching of the Lunar New Year Parade. Gung Hay Fat Choy!
Also, the Olympics start today. V. exciting.
