I am writing to you from the tail end of the holiday-fun wrecker. The Stomach Flu.
He sought me out, swallowed me whole and held me hostage until he was sure that I watched Dick Clark stumble over his words and Carson trump his own assholeness while I noticed the ball dropping somewhere between two sips of ginger ale.
I just hope that saying about how you spend new years is a reflection of the rest of the year. Because I will be spending a lot of time on the bathroom floor with a down comforter in '08. You can fax me there.
But hey! I'm getting better! I switched from black yoga pants to gray yoga pants today!
Total sign of recuperation, right?
Resolution attempt: Use fewer commas. In writing, in life.
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