It Burns, It Burns
Clearly, I cannot be expected to utilize my Sunday in a productive manner - - including, but not limited to, the ongoing-yet-still-forestalled development of my novella, or the online perusal of dj's and photographers, or the creation of an appropriate Save-the-Date - - with this going on outside my window:
If I could add a link to the song they're playing - - a song which, after suffering through it on an annual basis for the past 4 years, will be forever seared in my memory and will surely be playing on the loudspeakers as I ride the escalator down to Hell - - I would. I would also add an olfactory link to the incense which has now overtaken my apartment, robbing me of my faculties and leaving me with no choice but to lay prone on the couch watching Nip/Tuck on Netflixx all day.
Then again, after channeling Cleopatra all night long at RJ and Lance's murder mystery party last night, I could certainly use the rest.
posted by Groomzilla @ 12:41 PM
2 Comments:
This morning, Miss Marisol & I sat in the Renaissance Diner, sharing eggs benedict. She told me that for the last few days a league of men in purple have come walking down the street, carrying a large statue, singing with a marching band, burning incense, and keeping her awake all morning long. I laughed out loud & told her Tylenol PM & champagne don't mix.
My dear Groomzilla, Tylenol PM & champagne don't mix...
Who put Tylenol PM and champagne in my whiskey 'n Vicodin?
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