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The party was a good time. There was dancing. Good conversation. Cigar smoking. Lots a drinking.

Lots and lots and lots of drinking.

I haven’t drank that much in years. For real. I was ridiculously drunk.

I didn’t eat much yesterday. The food at the party was okay, but I mostly picked. Big mistake. I also started drinking before I ate and then I just didn’t feel like eating.

You should never start drinking before you eat. Never.

Or you find yourself at the end of the night sticking your finger down your throat and throwing up more violently than you can recall doing in a very long time.

After I puked, I didn’t feel better. I went into the kitchen and drank a glass of water. This sent me back to the toilet so quickly I was afraid I wouldn’t make it. While puking this time, I pissed myself. It wasn’t pretty.

I managed to take a shower before passing out.

Today hasn’t been pretty. I woke up with the shakes. I drank a glass of water and went back to bed. After laying there for a few minutes, I went to get another glass of water. This caused me to run into the bathroom and throw up. Throwing up water is weird.

Then I looked into the mirror. I had red marks all over my face. It looked like acne or a rash, but when I looked closer I could tell the marks were broken blood vessels. I guess I puked really fucking hard last night. Thank goodness for mineral makeup.

I have spent the rest of today on the couch. I feel like shit. I have no appetite. I can hardly keep my eyes open.

I will never drink again.

I know that’s a lie, but right now I can’t imagine ever ingesting alcohol again. Not even wine. I’m a mess.

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I’m very hungover today. Very very very hungover. I got in this morning at 5 AM. That’s right, 5 AM.

I went to a Cinco de Mayo BBQ last night at my parent’s friend’s house. I’m friends with their daughter, who lives next door to her parents. The party was held in their backyards, they don’t have a fence, and about 50 people attended. There wasn’t one Mexican there, so my mother’s friend Joe (who is Irish), wearing his Ireland soccer jersey, held up his home brewed lager and toasts Mexico and it’s wonderful resorts. His Scottish wife, who I’ve spoken about here, yells, “Oy Oy Oy” and we all drink.

Somewhere around 10 PM, we young people start playing flip cup. After a few games, the parents wanted to play and they form their own team. At midnight, a full blown tournament starts with 8 teams. At 3 AM, the tournament heats up and there is some serious smack talking going down. At 3:30 AM, I think, someone suggests I stand on the corner of the table and pull my shirt down to display my cleavage to distract our friend Ron at the end of the table. I go one further (can you say drunk) by bending over and shaking my ass while displaying my cleavage. This works, I chug my beer and make a perfect flip on one try. This leads to everyone screaming, “That ain’t right.” We go on to the final round, where I was told we would be disqualified for any cleavage showing high jinks. I called them all crybabies.

We fucking won.

And, that’s all I really remember. I was fucked up drunk. I woke up on my couch with my pants halfway down my legs, my panties twisted in a very uncomfortable way, one sock pulled over my sneaker and the other sneaker off, and drool running down my face. My friend tells me later that she drove me home around 5 AM and while climbing my stairs, I yelled to her that I had to take a break cause they were too steep.

I’m surprised I didn’t write a post. Hmm.

I almost fell down walking to the bathroom. I showered, cause I smelled like beer. I looked at the time. 9 AM. I had the shakes. My mouth was seriously dry. I guzzled about 10 glasses of water. I fucking collapsed on my bed.

It was suddenly 3 PM. Like magic. I lost 6 hours of my life. Didn’t hear a fucking thing. Didn’t move. My back hurts, my neck hurts. I feel like a train hit me.

In other news…..um, there is no other news. I’ve been watching Little Britain all day. Brilliant. Fucking hilarious.

Yup, that’s all I got.

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I went out last Friday with my friend Tim, his younger sister, and a bunch of her friends. We went to a bar I would normally avoid, but Tim and I wanted a good laugh so we didn’t mind. Besides, we both wanted to see if my new haircut added to or diminished my fierceness. His words, not mine.

Oh, didn’t I tell you. No? That’s right, now I remember….I was taking a vacation from blogging. Well, I chopped my hair off. It’s now chin length and I love it. It’s so blissfully easy to fix my hair in the morning, I’m thinking of never having long hair again. And no, you’re not seeing a picture just yet because I need to lose a few pounds. I don’t know what happened to me this winter but I’m not happy at all. Tim has assured me that it’s hardly noticable, but I feel heavier and it’s bothering me. So, you’ll see my new hair when I feel attractive again.

Anyhow, back to the story. Since Tim thinks I’m as fierce as I’ve ever been, I get all dolled up to go to the cheesy bar. The bar had a very small dancefloor and a DJ with the biggest afro I’ve ever seen on a white person in this century. As I ordered my first drink, the song “In da club” starts up and everyone is screaming and all of the hos…erm I mean women…run onto the dancefloor like it’s the only song they’ve ever learned to dance to. I gulped my first glass of wine and then gulped the second right away. By the time I was sipping the third glass, I was feeling extremely loose.

We were sitting near the dancefloor so we had a nice show to watch. Tim and I were laughing our asses off. We see this guy staring at us. He starts hopping over to me and thrusting his pelvis at the same time. I laughed so hard in my wine that I got some up my nose. He then started making these strange movements. I thought he was doing the butt, very badly.

Tim and I turned back to the bar laughing. About 10 minutes went by and I’m being tapped on the shoulder by a woman who looked like this flatchested Elvira looking chick. I hear Tim guffawing next to me and I’m trying to keep a straight face. She tells me that her friend thinks I’m pretty and I’m amazed. No, not that her friend thinks I’m pretty, but that she has friends that have agreed to come out in public with her looking like she did. She had a beehive.

I was fascinated with her beehive. As she was telling me all about her friend, I got an overwhelming urge to test the strength of her beehive. It looked like it had a lot of structural support, but I needed to be sure. I wondered if she rolled a kneehigh stocking in there or maybe a bit of styrofoam. I needed to be sure. I lifted my hand to poke her beehive just when she turned her face back to me and I froze, finger in the air two inches from her head. She looked at me like I’m the weird one while Tim is now laughing so hard he’s choking. If there’s anyone on this earth who knows me, it’s Tim. He knew I was going to poke her in the head.

The woman tells me she’s going to get her friend and runs across the dancefloor. I wonder out loud to Tim if the friend is also in costume. Tim is now incapable of sitting up straight because of the laugh cramps in his stomach. The chick comes back and guess who her friend is? Yep. That idiot that was doing the butt with no real skills. He tells me his name is Charles and the following conversation takes place:

Me: “Oh, you were doing the butt earlier.”
Guy: “No I wasn’t. I was doing the krunk.”
Me: “Huh?”
Guy: “You know, I was krunk dancing.”
Me: “Are you gay?”
Guy: “No way. Why would you think that?”
Me: “I have exquisite gaydar. And I don’t know too many straight white men dressed for yacht sailing krunking at a club.”
Guy: “I have style, like Justin Timberlake.”
Me: “So gay. You mean to tell me you’ve never sucked a dick? I get the vibe that you have.”
Guy: “Yeah, I’ve sucked a few dicks in my life. But I’m not gay.”
Me: “Listen Chuck, you’re gay.”
Guy: “I’ve never taken anything up the butthole. I’m not gay.”
Me: “Really, Chuck. You just said butthole. And dude, you’ve sucked a dick. You’re gay.”
Guy: “Whatever bitch.”

So, they walk away and I’m in desperate need of another drink when Tim says, “He totally has taken it up the ass. He looks like the kind of fucker who would lick his own shit off of a guy’s dick.”

And then it happened……

I fell off of the stool and was on the floor laughing my fucking tits off.

Tim helped me up and out of nowhere the bouncer appears and tells us we would have to leave. Apparently, I was flagged. Tim’s sister wanted to stay, so the two of us came back to my house and drank ourselves silly with Tim dancing like Chuck every once in the while. I’m calling him ‘Krunk in the Trunk’ and he was calling me ‘Flagged hag’.

Alas, Tim left the next morning to meet up with his gorgeous boyfriend and I covered my head with my pillow and wished I had a gorgeous man to nurse my hangover.

Bastards.

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Last night was a hoot. By hoot, I mean that I spent the night sober watching middle aged white people grinding against each other to songs like “O.P.P.” and then ended the night by sticking my finger down my own throat to throw up. Yeah, it was oh so awesome. It was a subtle reminder of why I enjoy spending New Year’s Eve in my jammies drinking tea on my own fucking couch listening to my own favorite songs.

I got to my friend’s house at 6 and we went out to dinner. After dinner, we all went back to his house to drink and eat some more. Let me explain first that these people weren’t really great friends of mine. They’re more like acquaintances. My friend from NYC talked me into going, as they are more her and her boyfriend’s friends. Anyhow, we’re at this guy Hugh’s house and they offer me some of their homemade wine, moonshine. I take a sip and it’s quite smooth so I have a glass. As I’m exhaling after each sip I can smell/taste the alcohol on my breath. Very strong shit. So, I have another glass of the moonshine….erm wine….and I start to feel like it’s stuck in my throat. Like I couldn’t digest it or something. I stop drinking and we get ready to go to the fire hall where there’s a DJ and more food.

We had tables reserved right in the front of the hall, next on the dance floor, and directly in front of the speakers. The music started and I realized that I would be deaf by the end of the night. After listening to a shitload of oldies, which I love, they started playing country music. I know that there are many people who love country music, but I’m not one of them. So, I spent the better part of an hour watching people line dance. I still felt like my stomach wasn’t right. I was trying to drink cranberry and vodka but it wasn’t making it any better. The DJ started playing modern music and I got up and started dancing. I was wearing 3 inch pointed toe knee high boots. I knew when I started dancing my feet were going to be punished, hard. I didn’t care. I fucking brought sexy back with Justin. I shook it like a Polaroid picture, just like I was told. Fuck, I even did the butt. After all of this, my feet were burning. I sat down to give them a break and that’s when it happened.

O.P.P. happened.

I looked up and I saw the grinding. I’m not sure if any of you has been to South Jersey, but it’s a special place where the late 80’s are still alive and where the mullet still has a home. Think Jerry Springer without southern accents. Stretch pants, long shirts, white sneakers, white slouch socks, and long braids. It’s the place fashion forgot. A place where Road House is considered a great movie. I doubt anybody, except me and my friend, knew who Stacy and Clinton were. I actually saw a permed mullet on a man. And it seemed like all of these people found mates. During the slow songs, I was wondering why it was that I was sitting alone at the table drinking water while these specimens of grace and culture each had a partner. Yes, it made me bitter.

I did get asked to dance twice, but I declined as I was pretty sure they both were the missing link. If that sounds horrible, then I’m horrible. I like what I like. I don’t want someone I have no interest in sweating on me and holding me. Sorry.

By the time midnight came, I felt like I had the worse case of indigestion ever known to mankind. My friend told me to move around and maybe I’d feel better, so back on the dance floor I went. I ended up goofing off with my friend, doing cheesy dances like the running man and the percolator. I sat down for the electric slide, because I don’t support that shit. Fuck the macarena too. I know that the song titles are proper nouns to be capitalized, but I’m demoting that shit. Sue me if it offends you.

Finally, it was time to go home. I got home around 2:30 AM. Took a shower to get the glitter and sweat off of me (I hate going to bed dirty) and watched TV until 4 AM. Woke up at 5:30 because I felt horrible. That’s when I made the difficult decision to put my finger down my throat. I felt better after puking. Brushed my teeth and finally had a restful sleep.

Today, felt weird without the Mummer’s Parade. It’s a Philadelphia tradition and if you’re from the tri-state area, you know the Mummer’s. It’s a huge tradition here.

Found out by my neighbor that my car was egged on Saturday night, but I didn’t notice because the rain yesterday afternoon washed it away. I’m troubled by this, as it’s the second time this weekend that something has happened to my car. Saturday morning I was looking out my window and saw a bunch of debris in the street next to my car. I went outside and saw that someone scraped their passenger side mirror against my car and hit my driver side mirror. My mirror is chipped and they lost their mirror. That was the debris on the street, their mirror. If something else happens I think I’m calling the police.

That’s all I really have to report. I’m not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. I’m going to be crazy busy, so if I’m scarce I apologize now. I will be doing a triple stroke this Friday. I missed the last two weeks and so I’m incorporating them in to Friday’s stroke.

I liked saying triple stroke. Had a little chuckle.

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My friend from NYC is here. She’s my only real friend and I don’t get to see her much because she travels for her job. We’re getting drunk in the comfort of my apartment. The wine has been opened. She brought this new wine in a box which is fucking hysterical. She’s on the phone right now with boyfriend (he wants to come over, but he’ll just ruin our girly fun). I’m bored listening to their conversation. My friend took a picture of me having a sippy sip of my winey wine. Oh, and there’s a picture of Stella. I’m trying to get a picture of my friend, but she’s asked me not to post a picture of her on here (she’s a wuss). We’ll see how she feels once she’s drunk. Hee hee.


Stella being her cute self.


Hmmm, wine.

What the fuck did I do today besides sleep, work out, and make dinner? Nothing.

Tomorrow night I’m going to a big party at some fire hall with a bunch of people. Should be fun, except I’m not much of a New Year’s Eve gal. I get real melancholy around this time of year and I’d much rather enjoy the night by myself. Have a good cry and then go to bed. I always find it a night for lovers. Strange, yes I know.

Today is the one year anniversary of the death of my kitty, Dutch. I still miss that cat. Everyone loved him. He had diabetes and his blood sugar was so high that the vet couldn’t guarantee his living through the treatments to get him right. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I had had him since I was 17 when he was 7 weeks old. He was a little itty bitty thing. He had been with me ever since. He has lived in every place I have. It’s weird that it’s only been a year since his passing when it feels like a lifetime ago. Let’s have a moment of silence in memory of Dutch. I may even pour a sip on the concrete for him. Word.

She’s off of the phone. Yay! It’s time for the wine. Sweet.

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My asshole friend just called me to invite me to a Christmas party that she forgot to invite me to. She sent the invitations out weeks ago. She said, in a very motherhennish superior tone, “Well Debbie, I was thinking of all the couples Steve and I know and in all honesty, we just didn’t think of you. The party starts at 8 if you want to come.” I said hell no. I’d rather get fucked up drunk by myself in my mismatched baggy jammies and these old lady slippers….

….than hang out with those snobby jerks. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

I need new friends. Why they must make me feel bad for being single is beyond me! These people don’t love me. I’m done with them. I officially have no friends.

Hmmm, I’m thinking about telling on all of them. I know their secrets.

Oh, I just discovered Fit TV and I’m going to be doing the Dance Party Workout now because I’m really bored.

I’m seriously excited about signing up for karate. It’s going to be awesome.

Off to make a drink after my workout……drinking the blues away….I’m drinking the blues away…..yeah!

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Apparently, after being handed my third shot of vodka on Friday I raised the glass high in the air and shouted for the whole group around me to hear, “This is the shot that will turn me into a whore.”

My boss told me this when I got in this morning. She was laughing her ass off when retelling the story. She said it was classic drunk Debbie.

Yup. That sounds right.

UPDATE: My boss read my blog this morning and said, “Debbie, you forgot to say the funniest part…..I was the one handing you the shot.”

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Let’s see, what’s been happening with me.

Yesterday was the crappy day. I carpool with my mom and woke up to my cell ringing. I answer it and she’s yelling, “Where the hell are you?” and I look at the clock and say, “Oh no, my alarm didn’t go off. I’ll be there in five minutes.” I hate driving and wasn’t about to drive myself to the train. I peed, wiped my face off with a wet washcloth, put on dirty jeans and a dirty shirt, grabbed my sneakers and a pair of socks, threw food in Stella’s bowl, and ran out of the door. Got to the CVS parking lot and trotted across in my bare feet with no coat and hair all over the place. My mother was laughing so hard she was crying. I got into the car and tried to make my hair somewhat okay by licking my palm to smooth it. It didn’t work. I have curly hair and it gets nuts when I sleep on it. I put it in a ponytail and that’s where it stayed. I got to work and realized I looked like a zombie, so I put some blush on. I couldn’t care less about the puffy eyes or dark circles. I need coffee. Bad. I got a giant coffee and opened my email to 71 messages of pure hell and people messing up my perfect organized system. Organization has become much more important to me, as I’m now working on 3 monthly publications that range from 180-200 pages each.

My sister is having a boy. My dad cried. My mom is really excited. Now she wants a grand-daughter. I was told that it’s up to me to provide one for her. I kindly informed her that it would probably help if I was in some sort of stable relationship with someone who wanted kids and wasn’t a prick. She told me that I might be onto something. I told her she might be on something. We had a nice chuckle.

My company’s Christmas party is this afternoon. Last year it was held at a really shitty venue. They didn’t have enough food and the drinks sucked. The year before I witnessed two inappropriate hook-ups between co-workers, one of which involved dry humping against a wall and lots of sloppy making out (I couldn’t stop staring) and then after the party we went to a colleagues house for more drinking and ended up watching two co-workers wrestle each other naked. They were male co-workers. They were very hairy. Three years ago, I was so drunk I pissed myself walking across the parking lot of the train station. So, stay tuned for more fun stories. Who knows what could happen. The party is back at our normal place this year. I blew out my hair for this party, so something good better happen.

I was tagged for the first time in the history of my blog by Jessica. Here it is.

According to the rules. Each player of this game lists 6 weird things about themselves. People who get tagged need to write a blog post of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says you are tagged in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

1. When I go to people’s houses, I have to look in their refrigerator. Every time. I do this without thinking. Most of the time, I don’t even want anything from the frig. I’m just nosy.

2. I can’t go to sleep at night unless everything is straightened up and all of the dishes are washed. That means the pillows on the couch have to be fixed, the throw folded, and etc…

3. I always drink a huge glass of whole milk in the morning right when I wake up. I’ve been doing this since I was a little girl. I must do this before I have coffee or breakfast.

4. Unless I’m working out, I don’t ever leave my house in any kind of sweatpants, yoga pants, knit gaucho pants, fleece pants, etc. I will put on a pair of jeans to go to the store or anywhere for that matter.

5. I’m obsessive about my skin care and have been taking special care of my skin, especially the skin on my face, since I was 16 years old. I have never slept with makeup on. I could be shitfaced drunk and still wash my face thoroughly (wash, tone, eye cream, moisturize) before passing out. I have no wrinkles, no ruddiness or redness, no pimples (I might get one once every 6 months or so), no roughness. My skin is baby soft as a result of this and if I have any say, it’s always going to be like this.

6. I hate driving. Anywhere. For any reason. I will sweet talk you until you agree to pick me up. I’ll even give you gas money. Shit, if you’re my boyfriend I’ll even offer to give you a blowjob while you’re driving as long as you pick me up at my house. I really hate it.

I have no idea who to tag, so I won’t tag anyone. If you want to do this, then go ahead.

Now onto my stroking:

Diary of the Nello: She was one of my first readers. She’s hysterical. And she has two of the cutest kids in the world. She hasn’t been posting much, but she’s worth checking out. She also designs websites and such. Shextremelyemly talented.

Dim City: He is hysterical. His post about MySpace is one of the best things I’ve ever read in the blogworld. He’s a great writer and has great perspective. Go check him out.

Edtime Stories: Oh, erotic stories that will make you squirm in your seat. Check his site out and I promise you’ll enjoy it.

More stroking will come next Friday.

Enjoy your weekend and lots of hugs and kisses.

Oh, and go vote for HDW at Green Apple Martini for Weblog Award for Best Diarist. She is a sweetheart and deserves it.

UPDATED: Four gasses of wine adn 5 shots of grey goose vokda.a I’m fuked. I \ca’t freel my feet. my jommom had to drive me home becauaee I’m not lable. No hoodkups. No whatever. I danced mmy ass off. Eveyroel loved my hair becuae they couldj’t get over how straight hit was and how long it is. Where the hell ws judy? I broke it down when the bpklayed PYT by micheale jackxon. Yes, peo;ple i can dance lieka motherfucker. i gottta go because i feel liek it’m boihng to jpuke. I’m going to go tto bed now. bye;ee.

UPDATED: \Drink more or sober up? Thjat’s the queistion.

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