The Aftermath of Cheap Wine

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Urrggh. That is about all I can muster after drinking copious amounts of cheap red wine last night. You would think that survival instincts would kick in and my brain would remind me that my liver hates me. But apparently my brain hates me too and thought it would be way more fun to suffer. Bastard.

And of course I have a ton of work to do as I am moving from my apartment tomorrow (and am no where near packed). All I want to do is curl into a little ball on the floor but I don't think that pill bugging will get my apartment packed.

And what is really stupid - I didn't even have that much to drink last night which means that I am getting old and can't handle my liquor no mo. Great. The onset of old age. Pretty soon I will be able to understand the Luby's Luanne platter. (I am utterly convinced that when you turn 65 the secret of how to order the Luanne is magically unlocked in your brain)

I have a whole rant on dating and how the hell long should you wait for a guy to give you a kiss without wondering if he is completely gay or sexually frigid. But the cheap red wine has limited my brain cell capacity and that rant will have to wait for a clear head.

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