Glitter and Doom

New Years Eve is amateur night.

Everyone knows that, and yet I still insist on going out every year. Generally to the same place, with the same people. And it’s the same place and the same people I see lots of other booze soaked nights of the year, so it’s not even that special. At least this year the bar offered open bar and I drank my weight in vodka during that time to make it worth it.

So as I rang in the new year double fisting vodka tonics and drinking champagne from plastic cups I thought….

Wait, I didn’t have any thoughts because by that time I was three sheets to the wind and bouncing around showing people charms hidden on the heels of my shoes.

The next morning though I woke up and thought my head may explode and all I wanted was grease. Instead I had my husband’s kids asking about breakfast and telling me about their new year with Grandma and all the cookies they ate, and how Trent (6) peed in his sleep, and he’s really sorry, and…

Kill me.

So Happy New Year to me. I had a sprained ankle courtesy some douche bag who can’t read or work doors, (see Cat in Heels on that one) had to shampoo kid pee from upholstery, make cereal and coffee, wash blankets, and try to not kill my still sleeping husband who was convinced his head may fall off if he tried to lift it.

I punished him by making him make me breakfast, which he barely got through, and then we both sat down to share the wonder of “The Neverending Story” with the kids, who agreed that it’s a great movie and our dog kind of looks like Falcor.