For the record, I certainly wouldn't kick Nigel Tufnel out of bed

Oh, gentle readers, I am feeling unwell.

Last night, my roommates and I got inexcusably, unnecessarily drunk. We sat on our couch, absent-mindedly re-filling our glasses and watching Spinal Tap (Sarah was a Stonehenge virgin, you see). Somehow we managed to down four bottles of cheap wine and one of sangria before we realized the inadvisability of our actions. Come to think of it, we should have clued in somewhere between the "Big Bottom" sing-song and the conjecture on young Christopher Guest's status as a hottie.

Since memories of my subsequent trip downtown to meet friends are a little fuzzy, I'll just issue a blanket apology for any offensive/obnoxious/outlandish behaviour and promise to be a good girl next time.

I hope the whole debacle is actually pretty funny, and not just something I'm convincing myself is in order to make the evening's forensic work easier on the ego.