The coronation of the Locust Queen...

Miss me?

Did the world end because I didn't post yesterday? I'm pretty sure blogging is referred to in the Book of Revelations.

I was hungover. I took the day off to revel in the glory and the pain.

Once, just once, I'd like to remember the end of a Ghost Runner show. People will ask me, "What did they play?" and I can never seem to remember anything past the playing of the "March of the Degenerates." I should just start making shit up:

"Oh, yeah, they did a cover of Sweet Home Alabama before mixing in a TLC medley. It was AWESOME."

I apparently was acting fine and happy and then cut to me slapping Conor. Thrice. Sorry Conor. I took a shot of whiskey with Spring, and that's all I remember. I woke up with the following questions:

-where am I? (home)
-how did I get here? (have no clue)
-why did I keep my bobby pins in my hair? (my head is killing me)
-why do I smell a bit like vomit? (hmmm...I wonder)
-why is my nightgown on backwards?
-WHERE IS MY WALLET?

Yup. I got drunk and lost my wallet. To be fair, I am the last one to do so in my apartment. At some point, all my fellow roommates have gotten wasted and lost their wallets. It was my turn.

How am I going to rent videos now?

I cancelled my card, there was no cash in my wallet (though apparently I tried to pay the cabbie with 5 pounds--which to be fair, 5 pounds is almost $10, so what if he didn't want to convert pounds to dollars?)

I'm not proud of any of this. I am proud, that in my wasted state, I still avoided Sleazy like the plague. Maybe not as much as the plague, more like a virulent flu. I just didn't have anything to say to him. But I don't know what I said to other people and what that would entail. I think I'm safe, though, since I think Conor was the Whiskey Carrie Wrangler. Poor boy had to deal with the ugliest parts of me when I'm drunk. I should've eaten. I feel bad.

Wait. Conor once used mine and Ashlee's blanket to wipe his cum off when Claire gave him a hand job on our couch.

I don't feel quite as bad. He's still got some karma to work off.

So yeah, I took a personal day. It was quite necessary. I couldn't make it until President's Day. I needed it NOW.

In honor of Ashlee, I have decided that this weekend is going to be Let Me Have Ashlee Make My Decisions for Me. So you are forewarned, my dear. And it's a three-day weekend. Lots of chances to fuck up royally.