Under The Wagon

First off, I previously stated that the presence of a cat at the Superbowl Party (once again, a lovely time all around, thanks Tucker) screwed up my allergies and was making me sick.

It was not the cat. It was the flu.

Hardcore, fuck you up, wish you were dead, where's my mommy, Flu. Monday was brutal, Tuesday had me envying tsunami victims. No Mardi Gras for Karla. However, I did learn two things:

1. God hates me. Can't believe I'm stuck with the fucking flu on "party week."
2. In the face of all common sense and decency, I have friends that love me.

Abbie brought me soup, Nyquil and juice on her lunch break...Several others called to offer help or condolences. Thanks kids, y'all are keen. But I don't want to get all soppy on ya'.

Today's my birthday.

I'm not feeling 100% better yet, but close enough, 'cause I've got some serious drinking to do tonight. I still have the cough (which I'm sure will disgust everyone in my immediate vicinity...it's a gross cough), but ultimately, I'm well enough to make myself ridiculously sick.

And really, that's all I ask for on my birthday anyway.

The Elbo Room tonight. 8pm. I'll be the one falling down a lot.