Life Lessons: "my room smells like beer and regret"

Not pictured: my dignity (I didn't bring it with me)

I'm in detox for a couple weeks. Need to give my liver and bank account an opportunity to recover from the beatdown supreme they got this weekend.

You learn all kinds of things when you binge-drink. For example, if you can't remember what day it is, you probably shouldn't use the telephone for calls or texts. Or email. Or anything. Take my word for it.

Spent Sunday at the Corona del Mar "Christmas Walk", which is really just an excuse for die-hards like my roommate to mix in a few beers on a Sunday. It should be more accurately titled "holiday booze up and stand around". Credit my roommate (pictured) for getting us there in time to commandeer a table in the 'beer garden'. Again, this is a case of misrepresentation, since they weren't growing beers there, they were growing hangovers. 

I'm surprised they let us in since we didn't have a labradoodle and/or $800 baby carriage for our progeny. It ended up being a good time, even with inclement weather. I was impressed with the turnout.

Blog post title comes from a text message I sent out after waking up Sunday morning (pre 'christmas walk'). It's a poor imitation of the original from last nights text "(my room smells like vodka and shame"), but you don't care.