Celebrity Celebration

Dear Diary,

I wonder what it would be like to be a celebrity. Do you get up in the morning? Or do you stay in bed and sleep until you're ready to go spend all that money? I wonder if you start drinking as soon as you're awake? Do you get wasted right away, and call people up for an all-day/all-night party? Sometimes I get mad that I have to go to work while there are people out there having an all-day/all-night party.

When I woke up yesterday morning, I waited for my wife to leave for work, and then proceeded to knock back a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream. I called everyone I knew and told them I was having a party all day until 6pm when I expected my wife home. I would have invited her as well, but when I made a suggestion the night before that I'd be staying home to drink and party, she told me to at least hold on to my job until they found a reason to fire me that has more to do with what I can't change about myself than just being stupid. I nodded my head, pretending to understand the difference.

At 10am, the party was hoppin' and boppin', and the music was blarin'. Everyone I called was at work and couldn't come. I called an exterminator in the yellow pages and when he arrived, I slurred and stumbled through some made-up story about some frogs near the stereo. I turned up the music real loud then and tried to make him dance, and partake in a little creme de menthe. He raised one eyebrow at me, like I was some crazy person, but still snatched the bottle and downed the entire thing in one gulp. We got really crazy then as he showed me some break dancing moves. The last thing I remember, I was spinning on my head, projectile-vomiting. When my wife arrived at six, she found us passed out in a bundle of arms and legs, the soundtrack to Beat Street on repeat.

I've been apologizing for the past twelve hours, assuring my wife that she only married some bozo who can barely hold down a job. By no means did she marry a celebrity.