Not A Portuguese Breakfast, But...

My liver is pissed. Furious, really. The past two weeks have been a fuzzy haze of vodka, vodka and, every unfortunate while, a drop or two of tonic water to stay hydrated. My holiday philosophy has obviously been go hard or go home. And, in between those drinks and the ever-so-often craving for nicotine, have been countless blog-worthy happenings. I had planned on sharing the first of those with you for your Monday morning reading pleasure. Unfortunately, I’m having trouble concentrating in my classy Uptown apartment as my neighbor sounds like he is giving his hooker of the week a Cincinnati Bowtie. So, until I can get some peace and quiet around here, or a guy who can make me scream louder than his special lady (currently accepting applications), you will have to be a little more patient.

Until then, though, feel free to email me your random New Year’s happenings. If they are even half as good as my neighbor is at keeping his bedposts way too close to the wall, you just might find them posted here.

Keep it classy, Dallas. Keep it classy.