So, I didn't think I was that intoxicated last night ... but then I woke up with a killer headache. I pretty much faceplanted into bed last night, and when I'm kind of drunk, I don't toss and turn in my sleep as I do when I'm sober. My hair was still in a semi-perfect ponytail, which is how I wore it out Wednesday. (This is worth noting only because it is so odd. My friends are always amused by my hair in the morning. They call it my "sex hair" because I almost always wake up with hair sticking out everywhere on top of my head.) So, I felt the ponytail and I rubbed my eyes and mascara and eyeliner smeared on my hand. I checked my pillow -- sure enough, I slept in my makeup, always a sure sign of drunkenness. Three martinis and I'm drunk? I mean, if we're going to be technical, I only had two and a half, since impolite jerk man spilled half of one on me. (On a side note, my jeans smell like Absolut and my comfy sweater poncho thingy does too. Bastard.) (Another side note: I don't care if sweater ponchos aren't stylish anymore. I love mine. Seriously, I wear it everywhere. I especially love wearing it out, because you can just wear jeans and a T-shirt underneath, slip on some cute heels and some sparkly bling (pretty earrings, a brooch) and you look really cute. And glamorous, I'm told.) The final thing that tipped me off as to my drunkenness? I woke up and read my blog post from last night. Dear God. Why do I turn into a sniffly pseudo philosopher after a few martinis?
I think this odd combination of bitterness and optimism has thrown my system out of whack, making something that I never worried about before a constant concern of mine.Oh dear, I'mtrying my hand at psychoanalysis again. Do you think dead Greek philosophers are spinning in their graves, thinking, "Well, we studied and wrote for years and years, and you think you've found philosophy in a half-priced girly drink. Drink up, bitches!" Will stay home tonight, for fear of attempting to find the meaning of life at the bottom of a pint of beer.