Induviae

It's 6:30am. I wake up with sinuses pounding. Dehydration has set in. The pain behind the eyes, throbbing as if there's a force wanting to shoot my corneas across the room, has become so unbearable I want to sneeze out my brain. A hot shower is in order as I attempt to recollect the previous night's activities.

Water. I've neglected you for the last 12 hours or so, but like any loving spouse you've taken me back with nary a question. I wash my evening's sins off in this wet confessional, but without a doubt we shall meet again as I lay waste to Pope Gregory's infamous list.

My detective skills spring into action. After checking my receipts, bank account, texts, and emails I realize my night did not involve bad encounters with law enforcement, purchasing land in Montana, or worse, contacting an ex-girlfriend or recent crush that may result in me getting slapped with a restraining order. I didn't wake up next to someone resembling Sloth from 'The Goonies', so the previous night was indeed a good one once memory recalls.

My standard for a good night out is when someone asks me the following question:

"This is going on the blog, isn't it?"

I told a friend that for Christmas I want a t-shirt that says 'This is going on my blog". She replied that I should ask for boxers that have that slogan.

I have cool friends.

"That should be the standard by which all nights are judged." - Jessica