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June 13, 1999.

Last night was Q & Pixie's birthday party, and man was I 'faced. Q had pledged that I would black out at this party, and who am I to argue with the birthday boy? So I drank beer, margaritas and vodka martinis & smoked & generally carried on like a drunken idiot. Because I was on a specific course of drunkenness, I ignored all those telltale signs of nausea and good sense...in other words, all the protective reflexes I've built up since the last time I blacked out. Alas, I didn't achieve my objective. But this means that I didn't wake up in somebody else's bed, so that's all to the good.

Embrassing moments:

  • saying "Evil Dead" instead of "Heart of Darkness" in a conversation about the work of Marlon Brando
  • loudly insisting that Stacy make Sheila act like a whore in the Khaki Goth short film
  • starting to dance around the tiles in the elevator floor just as the doors opened for others
  • falling asleep on the roof couch just before Q brought the concierge up to inspect the clean up effort and...
  • semi-dozing through St. Stephen's heartfelt goodbye before he left for Africa

(if I missed any you were there for, please send 'em in). All I have to say for myself is that at least my dress remained on.

I had a good time, but I think that I'd like to end one party at the re-christened Frogghopper Nook (a.k.a. the Commune) with the contents of my stomach intact. Hmm. It's a small personal goal, but those are the easiest to keep.


I'd prolly be in a better frame of mind generally if I'd gotten more than 5 hours sleep last night. The Boy's cat Ceilidh (Gaelic for party, pronounced "kaylee") is developing serious neuroses from her lifestyle switch to apartment cat. She simply can't understand that there is no "out" for her to roam at night, and she spends the entire night (and I do mean the entire night) mewling for release. When I shut her out of the bedroom, she scratches, mews and then hurls herself at the door. It is impossible to sleep with this going on, even if one does not have a system full of alcohol impurities. What with the two at once, it was a very frustrating night.

We're talking about mood-altering drugs. A lot of vets recommend that small, carefully monitored doses of a good trank can really help reduce feline anxiety and cut down on constant vocalizing. This in turn will allow the Boy to sleep through a night and consequently lessen Ceilidh's chances of premature euthanization. He really cares about his cat, but it only takes so much sleep dep before you start going snake and consider doing things that you'd regret later.

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