Because, really, we call January 1st “the New Year” thanks to little more than the efforts of a power-mad Roman Emperor and a Polish math nerd on contract from the Pope. Not to be too anal retentive about it, but our “new years” don’t actually start until our birthdays. Both dates are, after all, a really good excuse to get shit-faced, make a fool of yourself as you try to hit on that girl you found so hot, and, with God’s help, illicit some pity sex.
My girlfriend brought this up. She’s not in town at the moment so, naturally, no pity sex for me. Doesn’t mean she didn’t have a good point. It’s one I think this country of self-absorbed, over-stimulated, perpetual adolescents should’ve probably realized a long time ago. Maybe if they had, we’d all get our Birthday’s off. To recover, if nothing else. There’s only so much water you can drink before you go to bed at ten-thirty.
My usual sleepy time being 2:30 a.m. (on a good night). Sleep is, after all, for the weak.
I knew I should’ve kept up with that weight lifting class.
Ah, well. G'night.
Tags: Umm...yeah, not really worth it, I think.
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