I hardly got off the couch yesterday. Well, after I finally got out of bed at quarter to two. I moved a few times to get something to eat or drink and to use the bathroom. Other than that, on the couch I sat. I watched hours of bad tv, some Simpsons episodes, and read The Secret. The book was my gift from KC along with a canvas to encourage me to paint more often. I didn't even get dressed. I was lying around in the dress I'd gotten drunk in the night before and pyjama pants.

I was very pleased with the people that came to my so-called party. Until the crashers came, the living room was actually full of people I genuinely like. And their gifts were good. A cactus from Kate and Dale for a woman who likes plants but tends to kill them. A giant Swiss chocolate bar and pinwheel from Seth and Nancy. A one-time use vibrating cock-ring from that dirty dog, Woofy (who is finally a man himself...). A little bottle of Jagermeister from Stacy and Rose. The promise of a bag with crows on it from Rachael and the promise of the record of my choice from Chik White. I hope I'm not forgetting something. I apologize if I am.

I woke up ashamed yesterday. Not because of anything I did, except for getting too drunk. Guilt and shame often come with the disease of alcoholism, especially on mornings when you can't quite remember everything. Boy, that hasn't happened to me in a long time. I don't like it. I do remember kissing a pretty girl. I also remember joking about bringing the people I like inside and locking the door behind us. But I don't remember shouting after a couple of girls that they were losers as they left.

It's not like there was anything wrong with strangers coming with friends. Most or all of them were probably nice people. But I'm getting old. We were a small group of friends drinking and listening to records. Next thing you know, there are drunk "youngsters" hanging out on the sidewalk. No, no, no. It MY birthday party. You are welcome into the house and welcome to sit on our bench, but you have to be polite enough to meet the people that live in the fucking house and wish me a happy birthday. And you have to come in or sit on the bench. We are not children partying out on the sidewalk. I've had cops at birthday parties before...

So, I hope my behaviour didn't throw off people I like, but it makes me smile to hear I was bitchy...