Aftermath = Komaniwanakickya

There is one thing above all that I hate about being in my 30s... more than being called ma'am on a daily basis... the hang over. What is up with that?! I can still drink like a sailor but I will seriously pay for it the next day. I just don't see how it is fair to finally get your tolerance to an acceptable level, only you can't test it out unless you plan on feeling headache-y and pukey the next day. Fortunately, there was only vestiges of the carnage to my hand this morning. It had transferred to my face. But the manicurist doesn't care about that now so why should I? There is a big ole list of moving errands waiting for me to do. All I really want to do is to lie very still in my soft little bed and hope that the gerbils in my head get off the damn wheel already. And the worst part? I have to do it all again tonight when I go see the Nationals kick some Yankee butt. The beer and weenies are already calling my name.