George doesn't like to have booze in the house with the kid around, so, with the exception of my yearly bottle of Christmas scotch, if I bring it home, it's generally understood that I'm drinking it that night. For some unknown reason, I had my doubts that a six pack would be enough, so I bought two. And I've taken down eleven of them. And I'm still typing! And I'm looking at that last one like it's going to kill me. It probably will. Maybe I'll make a beer cake! I already made brownies. And banana bread. And most of the house is outrageously clean. I even wrote some really bad poetry and an even worse scene in my screenplay. Oh, and just for shits and giggles, I slapped myself in the face. It doesn't hurt! Holy shit, I've been productive tonight.
I also tripped over a cord and fell really hard. This is like, the fourth or fifth time I've fallen this week. In my defense, the other three or four times were on the icy porch steps. I was hoping I'd at least get a good ass bruise I could post here, but no such luck. That's probably to my benefit, though. George was far from thrilled that time I posted the picture of the spider bite on my boob on Facebook. He's got this thing about not wanting me to post pictures of questionable body parts. I bet George is planning to run for mayor or something one day!
Anyway, the whole reason I started this post was because I wanted to post a picture of my creepy looking humidifier. It's creepy as fuck under normal circumstances, but even more so when I'm shitfaced drunk and alone. I can't find my camera, but I did find a picture of it online.
Creepy!
I'm going to have to hide that in the closet before I go to bed. I mean, it's cute, but I don't think I can be alone with it.
Hey, I don't think I said anything too bad! Me, FTW!
