For My Birthday . . .

. . . The Girlfriend got me the complete Wire on DVD. We began watching it this week. I'd already seen the entire series, but forgot how much I loved it. So much so, that I started drinking in celebration.

Backstory: I've taken wheat and sugar out of my diet, just for the hell of it. And have begun reducing my carb intake. The only drink available to this diet was vodka and diet coke. By my third, the cola was only for color.

(The following may read like it's being written by Jame Frey. Management apologizes.)

I remember going into the bathroom after the second episode. I didn't feel like I was going to throw up, but I laid down anyway. The cold of the tile floor felt like a goodbye hug. A filthy towel was bunched into a pillow for my head. I lay there for a few minutes before The Girl entered. Her efforts to help me were met with accusations and punches. The following morning, she'd tell me that I slept on that floor for two hours.

Naked. Draped in a Star Wars sheet she didn't know we had.

I woke up earlier than usual, refreshed. My advances for relations were refused. Seeing your boyfriend covered in a child's sheet as he lays bare-ass on the stained tile of your bathroom doesn't get the juices going down there.

Now I'm sitting in my office. I've a creeping hangover. The type that only reveals itself as you're on-and-about your day. It brings a break to the stride and a cloud to the brain and stomach. Even the thought of my lunchtime Chicken Planet infuriates me.

And I forgot my gym towel.

Luckily, BMX John will be arriving tonight. So the day can only get better.

Right, right?