not my finest hour

Let's examine some of the truly tasteless things yours truly has done lately, shall we? Come on, it'll be a hoot, as I used to say.

I yakked in my toilet, on my couch and in my bed. Then I peed in my bed. There is nothing more humiliating than waking up naked, on a naked mattress and seeing a hair drier plugged into the wall and a plastic bowl on the nightstand. Because then you realize: you weren't alone. Someone cleaned up your yak, your pee, your furniture, your rug and yes, YOU. Someone made sure you didn't cuddle with any of your teddy bears and offered their easier-to-clean body instead.

There's something called grace that I don't think was bestowed upon me at birth. Maybe it has do with me being a sloppy dresser or never feeling completely comfortable in my skin .. I often wondered about becoming a man but I don't think I could go through with it. They call them social graces .. not social quirks or social mishaps . . . I sometimes feel like a social nightmare: a farting, nosepicking, freefood eating, sometimes rather drunken hooligan.

I replaced the health kick of february and march with an april bender.

I just ate a crossoint. sp?