Um.



Surprize. Being a bridesmaid is going to cost Teeni a lot more than orignally thought. I don't think I'll do it again.
Ever.

Tiny needs to relax.



My body aches. Please somebody dip me in hot mud, rinse me off, get Holga to rub me down, put smelly goop on me and slather some clay on my face because I feel like I'm falling apart.

Tiny drinks.



Thursday night we business dinnered, drank, drank and danced. The food was okay at Centro's, but the conversation and tequila shots were better. Then we went to the Depot and then on to Faces for go-go dancing boys and some bad dance steps to even worse house music. I got home somehow...I think someone drove me and I shambled up the stairs to bed. I woke up sicker than I'd been in a while and much sicker than I expected to be for only having four drinks. Thinking I just need greasy hashbrowns, I drove to Carl's Jr. for my fix and some juice but barely made it though the drive thru. Deciding it better that I didn't go to work after all, it took all my effort to make the drive home. No sooner that I found a parking spot in front of my building, was I able to grab my plastic sick bag (never be without one) and make a hearty contribution. It could have been worse, I guess. So I slept most of the afternoon and hoped that no one would notice that I didn't make it into the office. Three cheers to record labels that have no qualms about taking you out to eat, getting drunk with you and then taking you dancing on a weeknight.

Ringy Dingy.



So I was thinking that some rings are boring. And if anyone who wanted to be so inclined to give me one for whatever reason, that they might have the fine taste to pick out something unique. Not like a macaroni necklace, though one would not be refused, but something like that pictured above. Or below.



Or below that.



I mean, it could be very possible that I'm dying of a disease, who's only cure is a fancy ring from Tiffany's in a size 6 1/2.