What a tale my thoughts would tell… oh, wait. You don’t have to wonder. Now you can read the new incarnation of Queen of Snark (me, uncensored… unfiltered… unkind) where I tell ALL as well as tell off every idiot who’s ever annoyed me.

But be warned: you just might think that blog entry’s about you, and, chances are you’d be right.

*Apologies to my beloved Gordon Lightfoot.

On the recommendation of an acquaintance, I’ve been watching the Amazon “watch it now” episodes of Californication, HBO’s series about a one-hit novelist starring David “I’m a Sex Addict” Duchovny.

Meanwhile, I’ve spent the day struggling to piece together an op-ed piece before my 8 p.m. (Central) deadline. Up until my first glass of champagne this evening (No, I’m not celebrating anything; I just like champagne), I’d manage to eke out perhaps four paragraphs. It would have been more and probably was, without all the deletions and do-overs. But, as with so many times I sit down to write, that little editor inside my head kept screaming at me.

Midway through my second glass of champers, I realized why so many writers are lushes, including Duchovny’s character, Hank, who discovered in Episode 6 of Californication that “Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.”

The reason why writers drink so much is simple: because editors can’t.

Thanks to a neighbor with a bottle of absinthe I didn’t run Tippling Tuesday this week. (Why, yes, the absinthe was good. No I don’t remember much of the evening. Didn’t I just repeat myself?) The way I see it, I might as well run Tippling Tuesday tonight, belatedly.

So… what are you wearing???

There’s no feeling quite so bad as waking up with a hangover so fierce that you instantly remember why you once pledged to never, ever drink tequila again. But if there is anything worse, it’s waking up with said hangover because one’s mother is calling at seven-damn-thirty in the morning, bright and chipper and demanding to know why you aren’t. Rather than going into the whole hangover issue, I explained to her that I’m at a hotel getting some mental R&R.

Naturally, she reminded me that she raised four kids with next to no help from “that man you call your father” and that she never got to take such breaks or go on single holidays even though her sanity was stretched thin on a daily basis.

While I struggled not to hurl up whatever was left in my stomach from last night’s marathon hurling session, she continued reciting her litany of what rotten kids we were and how none of us appreciated all of the sacrifices — her time, sanity and youth — she made for us and blah, blah, blah. (I pretty much tuned out, my attention temporarily diverted by the massive amounts of tequila-scented sweat that started oozing from every pore on my body.)

Oh, sure, I could’ve pointed out how flawed her memory is, because I distinctly remember a number of times she sent us to stay with our grandparents and how she did, indeed, go on several of those single holidays trips that cater to divorcees. But that would only have launched a different — yet just as seemingly endless — litany about how much better of a grandmother she is than her own mother had been.

Being quite familiar with what keywords trigger her different litanies, I decided to just keep my mouth (and eyes) shut and pray for the room to stop spinning. Right about the point where I was thinking about offering to pay her way on one of those walking holidays that old ladies love if it’d get me off the phone, she suddenly paused long enough to take a breath.

That’s when I jumped in: “Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go. The maid’s here to clean my room. We’ll have to talk again soon but — oh, look. My cell phone battery’s dyi — click.”

Five minutes later, I was up and heading toward the hotel gym. Oh, sure, I still had a hangover but after a phone call like that I decided my day could only get better… as long as I stay away from tequila.

Faced with an ever-growing binge drinking problem, England’s Home Office and Department of Health are considering dramatic proposals to address the alcohol problem across the pond.

The measures under consideration include Nanny State-style signs warning of health complications, a ban on drinking games in pubs, and even an end to the tradition of giving women free booze in bars.

(WTF? Why didn’t anyone tell me? I can put up with British food for that!)

The document notes that the introduction of 24-hour drinking has failed to bring about the shift in behaviour that some had hoped for and that a more continental “cafe culture” has not been widely adopted. It criticises many prevalent attitudes to alcohol and warns that drinks should not be promoted as a way of enhancing an individual’s “social, sexual, physical, mental and financial or sporting performance”.

Obviously, that’s where the Brits are getting it wrong. Alcohol shouldn’t be promoted as a way of enhancing anything. It’s far more effective at helping one pretend the other person’s more enhanced. It’s called Beer Googles, duh.

Via Reddit:

If you bought $1000 of stock a year ago, you would now have:
$91.28 if you bought Washington Mutual
$37.50 if you bought Neomagic
$21.29 if you bought Freddie Mac
$20.79 if you bought Fannie Mae

But, if you had purchased $1,000 worth of beer one year ago, drank all the beer, then turned in the cans for the recycling REFUND… You would have $… 214.00 in cash.

So the best investment advice is to drink heavily and recycle.

It’s called the 401-Keg Plan.

Emailing under the influence: we’ve all done it. Yes, that includes me and I know for a fact some of you have, too, particularly on Tippling Tuesdays. (Note to Eric: No, I’m not. Note to Stan: DD. Note to Richard: In front. Note to Melissa: Now THAT sounds interesting!)

Like me — and Eric tomorrow — you’ve probably woken up the next morning hoping that somehow the interwebs failed and your message didn’t go through. But, sure enough, it did and there’s no way you can take it back. Oh, sure, you promise yourself you’ll never send an email while drinking again. Maybe you even go so far as to change your computer logon password to some crazy foreign language phrase as a way to stop yourself from doing it, then discover that even in a drunken stupor your fingers retain muscle memory. Sucks, doesn’t it?

But it doesn’t have to thanks to Mail Goggles, a nifty new Gmail feature which, when enabled, requires you to prove your sobriety by solving a series of 5 simple math problems in 45 seconds or less. Can’t do it? Then you’re probably a bit too tipsy to be sending email. (Got that, Eric?)

Unfortunately, by default Mail Goggles is only active late at night on the weekends. If you want it to screen drunken emails on other nights you should probably be sober when you set it up. (Understand, Eric???)

UPDATE: More on tech solutions to prevent drunk dialing, and maybe even drunk-texting, too.