I had a dream about a Nancy Meyers’ rom com in which Michelle Pfieffer leaves her husband to be with the evil queen from Once Upon a Time (I know, I know, I won’t watch it ever again). There were candles, and all white decor, and tasteful knits.
So I woke up this morning and all that I could muster is, “I’M DYING,” for about an hour. Then, like a stroke of hungover genius, I came up with a plan. Caesars. Bacon. Manmosas. McCain’s hash browns. Coconut Water.
I somehow showered, put on an Obama t-shirt, and paid for a mickey (?!) of stoli with shaking hands and bar change. Let’s not talk about the girl I went to high school behind me in line. Or let’s, since I brought it up. Thank god I had groceries so maybe I didn’t look exactly like the alcoholic I am.
But guys, I’m drunk. Day drunk. Alone. But…BUT I’m not hungover. I feel like a miracle. I am the Hangover Fairy.
Nerd circles are famous for their fandom: obsessive loyalty to a TV series/movie/book/game/etc. And while it’s perfectly acceptable to critique story progression or argue over the merits of various spin-offs and sequels, the core tenets of the franchise are generally above rebuff.