Adam Sandler Gives Birth.

My sincere apologies.

On the bright side, his newborn biracial (Jewish/African) baby girl is absolutely perfect. She doesn't look a thing like her father and I have a feeling she'll go on to do incredible things. And I don't mean "Billy Madison". 'Nuff said. 

And again, I'm really sorry about the visual.  

Hot Tub Time Machine.

A few of the gays and I hot-tubbed whilst sipping sparkling wine and popping expired prenatal vitamins. 

...I dunno. Don't ask.

Holidayz'd.

Every year I purchase a handblown ornament from Neiman Marcus as a gift for my mother (we like to pretend we're fancy). This tradition is always fun because it requires a trip to Union Square, which is quite the holiday spectacle. 

Anyway. (In a dream that I recently had.)

I realized that I had waited too late to make my trip to Neiman's and as a result I wouldn't be able to bring the much coveted box-o-class to Christmas. In a panic, I thought long and hard how to appease/please/delight my darling momma. Alas--   

I crafted her an ornament. With some old broken bulbs and a little glue, tape, and staples -yes, staples-, I made a super bad-ass, one of a kind, Christmas heirloom. 

You're welcome, mom. It's really the least I could do. Really.     

Paging Dr. Vomitus.

1. I'm eating a bowl of room-temperature blueberry yogurt in a hospital waiting room.

2. FLASH.

3. I'm a doctor who needs to check on a patient --irritated because I still have that disgusting yogurt, which for some reason I'm compelled to keep eating--. 

4. At first glance I assume my patient to be the new mother of a recently birthed infant, HOWEVER, I quickly realize that a. the 'infant' is attached to the woman's left side, b. the woman is drinking a beer and is clearly intoxicated, and finally, c. no one else in the room seems to be fazed by any of this.
5. I vomit. (Goodbye blueberry yogurt.)

Fin.