It started well. After work last night I went for a walk. I even jogged a little. Later, to reward myself, I poured a drop of rum in my diet dr. pepper. Then I poured some more. I kept pouring... and my body decided that it needed all the rum and the diet dr. pepper and the stupid tiny lean cuisine dinner I'd stuffed down my gullet, well, it all needed to make a cameo appearance.
It's not fair. If a person voids the offending contents from one's inner crevices (and crevasses), one should be spared the nausea and achiness of consequential hungoverness. So should it be written. Somewhere. Easily accessible.
And today the city shut off our water at work. They had a good reason I guess. Something about cutting a water main. Whatever. All I know is, the water was turned off at 7:30am and we weren't told until 9:30am. Take note, gentle reader, I wasn't told until after I'd consumed several liters of liquid. Bringing us back to the hangover, the hangover which demanded consumption of said liquid, or else. Water water everywhere, but no functioning toilets. Not for miles. Drastic, wacky hijinx ensued.
Tomorrow I get to go back to the doctor for more nastiness. Blech.
As Gollum might say -- if he were literate and/or real -- the mail stork brought me my ssshiny, precious copy of The Chicago Manual of Style. It is a strong ally in my fight against the unholy, but punctual, Asshats of Grammar.
In honor of this sanctimonious occasion, be warned, I've added a new word to the Lexicon De La Christy.
Thuz: the past tense of they. A contraction of they and was.