That is, 2003, you can go now.
The throwdown at Mt. Willis went well (to a point). It ended badly, but most parties that involve that much alcohol and bad blood usually do.
We had a few firsts. A career drinker who has never been pushed to the edge of wandering and vomiting was pushed over the edge and into fits of wretching next to my car. A lady who rarely drinks and never pukes, drank and puked. Oh, yeah, and the Sheriff’s Office was forced to come out. How about that? (In all fairness, the de facto party hosts who took over after I went to bed–I couldn’t go the distance this time–called deputies when a ultrarowdy and somewhat mean guest refused to leave, by cab or otherwise. My thanks go to those who took care of the last drama of the year).
Now, on to a year of being productive. I’m serious this time. Three hundred sixty-six days of drunken sloth just aren’t going to cut it. Health. Reduced intoxication. Productivity. Organization. Planning for the future. That’s 2004.
Of course, before I get to that, I have a weekend of playoff football to watch.
I’m screwed, aren’t I?