To the moon, Alice!

Somewhere between last night's revelry in $3 cocktails and waking up this morning, the joy train abruptly derailed. Last night was North Beach's annual "Miracle on Green Street," a four-bar pub-crawl/canned food drive that benefits a local charity. In the end, the only miracle was that I somehow found my way home unscathed. Any opportunistic muggers or ne'er-do-wells lurking at 2 am must've thought me unworthy prey. What with stumbling, smelling of booze and wearing at least a shot or two of Jagermeister, I surely appeared no different than a street-person. Of course, don't ask me what I looked like at 2 am. In fact, don't ask me the last two bars I graced toward evening's end. I can't tell you. All I recall is being overwhelmed and downright beaten over the head by the Christmas spirit. That must be why my eyes feel like lead and my head is pounding like a hippie drum circle.

We drunken revelers numbered about fifteen at the height of the night, and seven of us showed up late for work this morning. One particularly spirited member of the team found it necessary to convalesce in the confines of his own home, fearing a vomit situation in his work-cubicle. I wish I had been so wise. A trip to FedEx a short time ago felt like an out-of-body experience as a wave of light-headedness nearly left me a crumpled heap in the middle of Sacramento Street. The dry-cleaners would have wondered how I got gum and glass embedded in my suit. Fuck 'em. I don't pay them to ask questions.

I now sit in the confines of my office, nursing a mean case of the Irish flu and lamenting last night's thirst. It just occurred to me what tonight holds in store - two Christmas parties, the second featuring loud, live music. I can already tell I'll be getting friendly with my inner Scrooge. I'll hope for the best and try to keep the unprovoked verbal assaults to a minimum. It'd be just like me to show up to a party, hung over, and somehow manage to make the hostess cry. "Can I help you sir?" "I'm not sure. Do you have a bottle of sleeping pills and suicidal tendencies?" No, I shan't do that. I'll control myself, smile, listen and observe. I'm in no shape to add anything constructive or interesting to a conversation...unless the topic turns to alcohol-induced gastrointestinal oddities. Then I might throw in my two-cents.

I now must bid adieu for the day. The dizziness has returned and I think my left eye has become gangrenous.