After work last night, I indulged in a couple of Genny Creams (on tap) with my ex, Travis. We talked about days past and shared perspectives on the demise our relationship (which we chalked up to youthful impetuousness). Even now, I have nothing but love for this man.

Too tipsy to cook, I decided to keep drinking. Then got on the horn with a potential yummy until 2:30am. Believe you me, I'm paying for it now. I feel like five pounds of crap in a three pound sack.

Big circles under my bloodshot eyes, blotchy face, beads of sweat on my forehead- extremely alluring. While trying to assuage this fright with powdered concealer, the HR nightmare of a co-worker I call Archie Bunker walks over to me. "What's the matter with your face?" He asks. "I don't know," I lied, "My skin has been whacky." So he says, "Maybe you're ovulating."

And my brain just stopped.

"No! No!" He insists, "That's what happens to Joanie (his wife) when she..."

Before he could finish the sentence, I threw up my hands and expounded incoherent protests, "Dah, bit, epp! Just cut your losses with this conversation, huh?"

I don't have the energy to deal with this today.