Hollywood Bowl was great. Food was good, friends were actually nice and fun, and too many bottles of wine were consumed. The music was good too, of course, but it’s never loud enough for me. Classical music must be deafeningly loud - I like to feel it in my bones.

And then, in a really bad move, we went bar hoping – like we’re 22 or something. Starting in Hollywood at a place The Dude would have hung out in – we drank White Russians too. Then on to other bars. Until 2 a.m. Ending up at some random place called the Tattle Tale in a strip mall in Culver City. Of all places. But they let us smoke inside the bar and they had a fab 70s funk band.

There are no words to describe how I feel this a.m. None. But I’ll try…

Horrid, stinky, puke-a-licious, rancid, disgusting, rank, dehydrated, mentally numb, ILL, VERY ILL, and I think I’m gonna die now and how the hell am I going to make it to 5:30 p.m.

I’m not religious, but I best start praying.

I honestly contemplated calling in sick. But I have 0 available time off days (all allocated to Belize in November) and, well, I could sit home and be miserable and ill or sit at work and be miserable and ill – thank god most of the people on my floor have been moved down to 9. It’s mostly empty and my boss hasn’t shown up yet – and when he does will probably be leaving early.

Why is it when you have a horrid hangover it does not matter how long you showered or how many times you brushed your teeth – you still feel like the inside of public toilet?

More Pepto please…