Is This Really Happening?

I was forced to rise earlier than I was planning to this morning, thanks to a 745 AM phone call from my beloved sister. That, unfortunately, couldn't have come at a worse time, since I did some serious drinking last night and needed to sleep it off a little.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and scratched my head in confusion. Where was I? Who was I? Did I really see Christopher Lloyd last night in the parking lot? And did he really glance at me suspiciously, as though he knew what I had just done?

Too many mysteries at once. I picked up my latest fun read which describes in glorious detail how to get on a reality TV show (appropriately titled "How to Get on Reality TV" by my buddy Matthew Robinson). I have to start the morning with something that makes me laugh, or that is deliciously gossipy. The novel about codebreaking has to wait until at least 11 AM.

Anyway, I was picturing myself getting on the next Survivor, and trying to figure out which bugs I would and wouldn't eat if forced. I spent about 20 minutes pondering this, and was comfortable with the idea of eating a spider but refusing a locust. Then I realized that I was still very, very drunk.

Unable to focus on one topic, my mind skittered around errands that I had to run, and what I had to do to straighten up the Treehouse. I made mental notes of things I had to pick up at the store that I immediately forgot. I picked things up off my floor with the intention of returning them to their actual homes, but just left them some other place they didn't belong instead. I started to make my bed, but got distracted by a vicious itch on my big toe. You get the idea.

I sobered up relatively quickly and began my journey to deposit checks, buy snacks, and purchase DAT tapes. Good times. Although there were slight stumbles along the way, I managed to complete my tasks and even come home and fix breakfast. But now, on the Sirius radio, I could swear that Tony Orlando is singing to a woman named Candida about how life could be sweeter, and they could make it together, etc.

Let me get this straight: Tony Orlando wants YEAST to come with him where the "air is fresh and clean?" Hate to break it to you, Tone, but anywhere Candida goes, it is NOT fresh and clean. Candida makes everyone cranky, because women are in pain and can't stop scratching their nether regions, and it makes their sexual partners pissy because their contact is severely limited. So when you say you're "tryin' hard to win first prize," do you mean First Prize in the Not-Getting-Laid contest?

'Cause you'd be a shoo-in.

Anyway, the confidence gained from my productive morning is wavering. Is any of this really happening? Am I still drunk? Is there really a song that sings the praises of Candida, or was it just meant to be a slam to Dawn?

I guess I'll never know.

wake me up before you go-go. g