Happy Fuzzy Thursday

Operation Fuck-Up-Cleavers'-Mantra: Success. At this moment she is flying over our heads smelling a wee bit like liquor. Sweet. Unfortunately to get her to that state, I too had to imbibe a bit. The result is that my head feels like its stuffed with cotton, and I can't think too straight. I'm sure that Phrilly is feeling the same way, and I wonder whether she made it to her 9 am meeting. All in all, however, a small price to pay to make Cleavers travel with a hangover. Brilliant.

I am now officially scheduled to go under the knife. Mark February 23rd in your calendars folks: Anderson is going to be bed-ridden that weekend, and will probably annoy the fuck out of everyone with phone calls. Don and Eva offered to take me to Avonton for the weekend, but I do believe that would drive me stir-crazy. So instead, I will sit in my apartment, hope for visitors, and likely become the most annoying person in the world.