I'm just dull, dull, dull.
A very quiet week. Worked like a dog, then came home and collapsed every night. I didn't make it to the gym once. Just call me Fat Daddy. Or better yet, don't.
I've had the head cold from hell, which finally seems to be abating. Last night I took a mighty dose of Nyquil and turned in. I woke up 8 hours later, in the exact same position I'd fallen asleep in. Very odd for me....I'm a big tosser and turner.
Hopefully, tonight's Martinis will kick the cold out of my system completely.
We're off tomorrow to M.'s house in the wilds of northern New Jersey. We've had an annual Christmas gathering in his bear-ridden house for the past few years. It involves tree decoration, a roaring fire, large drinks and even larger steaks.
M.'s been requesting a special Christmas cocktail. He even sent me a recipe for Oprah and Rachael Ray's Pomegranate Martini. It involves 1-1/2 cups of Pomegranate juice and 2 ounces of vodka. What's wrong with that picture? Sounds like instant throw-up to me.
I think we'll just invent a sort of Cosmo, substituting Pomegranate for the Cranberry juice, serve it to him in tall, chilled stemware, and Tim and I will just swill bourbon Manhattans, like the tough guys we are.
We plan on watching tapes of a mutual friend hawking his jewelry line on HSN. He's one of their star sellers. Here's a fashion hint: Kukui Nuts!!
Now that we're sledding headlong into the holiday season, I have no time for the malaise that has plagued me these past few months. I've gotten started on my shopping, and I'm not going to get all "project-manager-y" about it. It's going to be fun this year, dammit!
Anyway, we have enough things going on to keep me out of the bars on Saturday night until after New Year's. Of course, I'll still be at the same old dive on Sunday nights, with the exception of Christmas day. Now that would be just to awful to even contemplate.
Have I ever told y'all about hanging out in the International Stud on Christmas Day? In like, 1974? Depressing doesn't cover it. The evening definitely lurched on it's own accord into Tennessee Williams territory.
Maybe another time.