Woke up this morning with an incredible feeling of sickness. Felt like I was drowning in my own spit, gross, I know. On top of that I had heartburn like a motha' and couldn't believe how much I'd kill for some pepto bismol. What a stupid name. Then I got to thinking about all of the medicines I don't have that my mom definitely would have. How does she always have everything? It must be a mom thing. Then I thought I should call my mom to see how she's doing. I haven't. I will.
Back to original topic. Eyes were/are swollen. Skin's greasy as fuck. Everyone else is asleep, and I would love to be. So what the fuck is my problem?
You are hungover, Jessica. And way to jump the fuck around with narrative perspective.
Tequila's a brutal thing. Totally fucks up my ability to dominate in Mario Party. Still think I was dealt a shitty/rigged controller.
Whatever. I always end up walking like, 10 miles without even knowing it when I'm in Isla Vista. The world is a blur at night, and all the half-naked girls in heels and drunken dub-step loving neanderthals come out to play. Guilty pleasure: I like dub-step. Maybe I'm too harsh. But when it's fucking anything below 60 degrees outside, I'm going to need a sweater. Whiskey-induced-warmth or not. Fuck I need some cough syrup.
Anyways, add to my hangover the feeling of running a marathon. All exercise benefits from stumbling around for a couple hours are cancelled out by the spicy spinach pizza, Morningstar buffalo wings and Pringles that I engorged myself upon before sleeping. No wonder I have indigestion.

Last night was fun. A total blur. I'll miss John and Becky when they're back in SF. As for right now, I just want to sleep.


Cool picture of the Rockefeller Center on December 5, 1933? Why, yes. Yes it is.