In Which I Get More Crying Done By 10 A.M. Than Most People Do All Day.

All hail the crying (weeping?) hangover. I was fine, getting my post-booze coma on and drooling into my pillow. My mom calls and removes me from said post-booze coma. Generally calls always lead to weeping, fighting or some sort of tense judgement, why should today be any different?

Don't worry, it didn't dissappoint.

Only my mother can tell me not to get my hopes up and then accuse me of being negative all in the same sentence/breath. (*cue "You Can't Win" from The Wiz*) Never mind that I am still without smokes (that part's kind of my fault, every time I've been presented with the oppertunity to replace them, I just haven't really been in the mood), I thought I was having an allergic reaction to something, but I think it might be stress hives, aaaaaaaaaaand I just got to sleep less than six hours ago.

It didn't help that after being one margarita in the bag yesterday with the girls I started crying in the middle of Brann's. Fucking embarassing shit. I hate crying. I hate public crying. That's not what I do. I get misty at the movies, but that's about it. The movies don't count though. It's dark and nobody's looking at me, unless I happen to sniffle a little too loudly or laugh at an "inappropriate" moment.

I'm pretty sure this is why I never get invited places. This is why we can't have nice things.

Same shit different day (suicide threats notwithstanding).

I might need a bagel.

Hot mess, party of one, your table is ready.