(How long will it take me to remember that it's a new year when I write a check? Probably six months. )
The Jokes left a while ago. Things are quiet around here now, yet listless and flat, like my hair two days after a blow-out.
Last night's party was great. It was the best New Year's Eve we've had since the one where we went to the Hotel Continental and drank Manhattans and had sex all night. (I'm sorry if that's too much information, Internet. But being around Joke brings out the vulgar in me. Since I've spent the last two days with him, I am just impossibly vulgar these days. You would not believe the remarks I've been making.)
And for the record, I am not hungover. I had four or five glasses of champagne last night, plus a glass of red wine with dinner and a little white wine before we went out. Yes, it was a lot to drink. But not enough to make me stupid today.
On the other hand, I went to bed at 1:00. At 5:00, I woke up when Joke's son, who was spending the night at our place with his brother and our kids, woke up. And I've been up ever since.
">">So ... I want my mommy. And that's why all these cleavage pictures seem so right. Although they're supposed to evoke Eight Maids a-Milking.
But the way I feel, I'd like to curl up between a nice pair of breasts and take a long winter's nap.