I blame the Laphroaig...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laphroaig_Single_Malt

"You danced, and now you have to pay the piper..."

I've always liked that quote. My old co-worker when I was at the Bullseye said that to me when I stumbled into work one Saturday after partying the night before with the Porkchops. (This would also be the day I snuck up to the 11th executive floor, snuck into an empty office, and fell asleep under a conference table for an hour. Whoops)

Sick. Sick as a dog. Woke myself up this morning super early in a wracking, dry-coughing fit. I felt my back get all funky and now it's awful today. Runny nose. Blurry vision. Not fun. I hate coughs that don't produce. Gross, I know. But it's giving me a sore throat. Ow.

X-Mas was great. I wish I had time to respond to everyone that sent love and well wishes. It was really awesome to see my frassbook page filled with all that goodness. The day of X-Mas is probably what started me on this road to ruin...

So I hopped over to Broiler's who was also awake waaaay early and was able to get RSVP's gift. (7am) Then home to a frassy 'Bean who was chatty. Finally succumbing to exhaustion, I claw my way into bed only to have a panicky mom call 10 minutes later to have me hustle over and help clean. I go over, caffeine up, and get to work. The rest of the fam damily shows (RSVP and brood) we have a great day of gifts, food, love, etc. Finally it's 3:30 and I'm in need of boogying so I can hook up w/Moda, pre-hotel. I am in desperate need of a nap.

We exchange gifts while swilling fine pink champers and I beg for 20 minutes. It's for naught, and we head off to BANK for dinner. Another cocktail consumed w/dinner, we head back to the hotel. Now, we're both pooped. The nap again is for naught, since cell phones start going off at regular intervals inquiring as to our status. Folks show up, and BW-J pops in with his annual Scotch gift. (Instead of the usual McAllens, it's the above mentioned whiskey) So, we get into that filthy, filthy stuff and commence "cheers" etc.

Now it's off to the Market.

Now I don't pay for a single drink. Of which, I believe, I had several. We danced. We sang. I shrieked myself hoarse. I. Iiiiii was that guy. You know him. A little drunk. A little louder than necessary. And doing a shuffling little jig when Elvis is sung.

Back to the hotel. Where I proceed to nurse another filth and water. And try and get folks out of their clothing. And lifting up my shirt repeatedly as an example. It was 4am before we got everyone out of there. Then finally pass the frack out. And drag our carcasses out at noon so we could meet RSVP for brunch at Keys. At this point, the night before manifested itself into a hum-dinger of a headache. We napped for 3 hours before calling it quits, watching "WALL-E" and going to bed.

Caturday night was game night at Panda-Bot's where it was mulled wine and wine-wine. Home at 1:30.

I'm just. Yeah. I think I'm getting to old for this s#it.

Oof.