I’m the only one awake. Me and the cat. I have to work tomorrow, way to waste my day off, everybody. How am I supposed to vegetate on my couch with all the $4 DVDs I bought in Canada with 17 people sleeping on it? Hm?

So anyway. 2008. Let’s forget it, it was garbage. Step number one: wash off the eye makeup that I’m still wearing from last year.

Sucked it up and got me a head shrinker, maybe I’ll be less loony in 2009. Resolutions… poo. Write the Great American Novel. Win Nobel Prize. Become rockstar. Lose 125 pounds. Start smoking, then quit. Start flossing?

I think this is where I traditionally point out that the fact that our year just so happens to be so many days long because our planet orbits the sun more or less one time or so in that period is pretty terribly unimportant to me. And the fact that we’ve chosen this particular day as a marker, big whoop. Good excuse to get drunk, whatever. Who needs one? Birthday in about two weeks. Don’t give much of a shit about that, either. I was trying to figure out how old I would be on various other planets last night, and on which one I would weigh the least, but, you know… vodka happened.

Ciao.

Vodka sculpture, originally uploaded by Allison McCarthy.

I’ve always thought that vodka tastes just the way I imagine perfume would. So it’s appropriate that Trump Vodka comes in a bottle that reminds me of an elongated version of Chanel No. 5.