His Smile's Your Rope So Wrap It Tight Around Your Throat

I had a fabulous weekend, running from one thing to the next; baby kisses here, tequila shots there, with no rest in between. Instead of paring down my weekend's festivities when I started to feel overwhelmed, I added to the craziness whenever a new opportunity arose. When Shawn called at 6 on Saturday evening and said he'd been invited to play a show, I didn't tell him that I was hungover and in my pyjamas and attempting to motivate myself to do my accounting homework. I got dressed and went to the shady bar and held the video camera while simultaneously keeping a death grip on my bag because it seemed like the sort of place where muggings are not uncommon.

(The audio will not sync with the video and I cannot be arsed to sort it out. Sorry.)

(Shawn's playing the bass.)

My body protested when I forced it out into the cold on Sunday, almost as loudly as Robin protested when I forced her to attend the BlogHer Holiday party with me. I can't meet lovely, sparkly people on my own though (especially when I am hungover and so far from sparkly that I cannot even muster a single twinkle,) so she agreed to be my wingwoman. The party was lovely and everyone I spoke to was wonderful and I will definitely be returning to Tempest.

I'm paying for my fantastic weekend now, as I lie in bed dying of the Throat of Doom. I don't want to be home from work; I'm actually feeling quite twitchy as I picture the mounds of paperwork piling up. I'm determined to be better by tomorrow so I can get caught up. I'm meeting Kyla on Thursday and I'll be anxious enough about that without worrying about invoices and germs too.