Today

I was greeted this morning by a persistent hangover and the lower half of some small animal.

The hangover was my fault; I went out and had a couple martinis with my girls last night. The lower half of some small animal, I can only assume to be the work of Fred "The Killer" Astaire.

I bolted right off the couch at 10.5 Sherman about 7:30 a.m. and proceeded to the yard to throw up. Awesome. Once I'd convinced Jamie that I wouldn't die, I went home and promptly slept in the car, parked in my yard, for about an hour. The sun was nice, the bird's were tweeting, and I wasn't about to let some hangover keep me from enjoying it. When I finally dragged my listless self into the garage past the dogs, frenzied by my being there for so long but not coming in, I stopped and screamed.

I opened the door to the food room and almost stepped down onto something gray and furry. It wasn't bloody. At first, I thought it was a stuffed animal, but I don't recall leaving a gray stuffed lower extremity lying around. The worst part of it is that I couldn't figure out what it was. Maybe a rabbit, maybe a squirrel who lost its tail... I pondered it, and Elsa came over and grabbed it in her mouth and tried to run, so I screamed some more, gave up, and took a shower.
Keep in mind that I now bring a flip flop in the shower, a.k.a. Arachno-City. I came out pukey and wet and tried to dispose of the half-animal, but I couldn't find it.

I guess it's gone now. Wierd.