Vers l'absurde

Hungover. Get back to me later.

It was supposed to be a calm weekend. And it was, for the most part. A dinner in with friends, time spent with the family (in particular playing with my cute cute 7- and 9-month old nieces [or whatever you call the babies of your first cousins]), catching up on work and sleep. I even turned down a couple of invites to go out and get drunk because I needed to recuperate from last week of going out every night, and because I knew this upcoming week was going to be similarly busy.

Then Monday rolled around.

"Hey, you wanna go to the beach?"

I mean, really, am I going to turn a trip to the beach, especially if someone else is driving? Nevah!


So a couple of hours in Malibu was followed by some seafood-by-the-shore, at Reel Inn. Shrimp tacos, onion rings, and a couple of glasses of beer makes for a pleasant lunch.


But was that enough? Oh no. We went back to the hotel pool where friends were staying, and then had a couple of tequila sunrises, laid out by the pool, played Marco Polo, had bloody marys, then more fried seafood, and wine with dessert.

And then we headed out for some karaoke action.

And that I'm awake at this hour is courtesy only of the stupid trash trucks that again woke me up at an ungodly hour.