Between work, blowing off work to look at NSFW content on my computer, and writing this blog, I got a nasty case of carpal tunnel syndrome, and the guy at the clinic said something's gotta give. My job pays the bills and watching celeb sex-tapes help me keep the dark thoughts at bay, but writing this blog don't do crap for me. So for the sake of my wrists, I'm done writing this @#$%.

It's actually kind of a relief to get this monkey off my back, because now I can do all the stuff I haven't had time to get around to: I'm gonna chase the raccoons out of the crawl space of my house, hit up the flea market and finally get myself a mattress, and start eating better too - fried bologna sandwiches every night!

I know there’s going to be a big empty hole in your lives that I used to fill, but don’t worry, I know tons of people who would be happy to fill it up for you… hehe. I’m talking about sex. And instead of you pervs reading about me doing it, get a life and do it yourself. I think a year of writing this has prepared you for anything and everything. Just remember this one last piece of advice: if it’s something I haven’t done, you probably shouldn’t do it either.

I got all these bruises on my body and no idea where or how I got them. Whenever I get hammered and don’t remember much, I search my body for bruises and the stories they tell.

I got a big yellow one on my right hip, so I musta fallen off a bar stool or the stage at Shaker’s. Got one that looks like a bite mark on my right arm, from the dent you can tell it was made by false teeth so now I know I was out with Ol’ Mickey the Chomper. Have a couple of bruises on my neck (they might be hickys though). There’re bruises up and down my legs, I’m clueless on those. And I got one on my left hip in the shape of an H… hit by a Honda?

Just got back from Syracuse after attending my nephew's dumb-ass wedding. He's such a handsome young man - bright red hair, pale Irish skin, and just enough meat on his bones to really grab onto - but instead of listening to his wise Aunt's advice about getting his freak on for another ten or fifteen years, he went and threw his whole life away by marrying this uppity little blonde chick. I liked her okay before the wedding, but then "Bridezilla" threw a lil' tantrum when I fell on her wedding cake.

Getting kicked out of the wedding was fine by me, I just wish they had done it a little sooner, 'cause I had to sit through that awful ceremony surrounded by a bunch of weak, crying, rich kids. Violins make me want to puke and the humidity made me sweat like a whore in church - which normally I enjoy, on account of all the pheromones I get to release, but this wedding was in some nasty rose garden and apparently the dudes' noses got all confused 'cause the hot young man-meat seemed more interested in the flowers than in smelling me. Or maybe they were just gay.

The only highlight of the wedding was sneaking back into the reception and downing tumblers of bourbon with a lanky guy who told me his name was "Mr. Jim Beam." Pretty soon we were cutting a rug and I was having thoughts about becoming "Mrs. Jim Beam," at least for a night. But then some stupid little girl just had to be the center of attention and stole my thunder by leading everyone in a bunch of lame-ass dance moves. Conga my ass! That 9-year-old knew exactly what she was doing - being a total cock block.