Prior to this past weekend I was a thirty-year-old Human Woman.  Over the weekend I died and became a ghost.  Behold a picture of me as I appear today:

Basically what happened is I went to a birthday party Saturday night and had many, many drinks.  I also danced for more than three consecutive minutes (I “Got Low” and “Jumped Around,” among other life errors), and topped it all off by going to sleep after 2 a.m.

This behavior, while apparently not a problem in my twenties, was sufficient, at age thirty, to kill me and transform me into a ghost.  A ghost with an aching right foot, perpetual exhaustion, a scratchy throat, and a neck with a severely reduced turning radius that is somehow exacerbated by sleep.  My new identity as a ghost was confirmed earlier today when a man almost walked into me on the sidewalk even though he clearly should have been able to see me coming.  Also, a few minutes afterwards a small child looked RIGHT AT ME with frightened eyes and gave me a wide berth.  Everyone knows that children are the only ones who can see ghosts, so I took this as final confirmation of my new plasma-tastic state.  I tried to reassure the child that I was a friendly ghost, like Casper, by giving her a huge grin, but this only seemed to frighten her more as she wailed and ran to catch up with her mother.  So I guess this means I’m not a friendly ghost and should start haunting the crap out of everyone who ever pissed me off before this weekend.  I’m compiling a list and am open to suggestions on this now (haunted) blog.  The first person on the list is currently Donald Trump.  TRY KEEPING THAT COMBOVER STRAIGHT WHILE YOU’RE SCREAMING IN TERROR AT MY GHOSTLY VISAGE, JACKASS!

Soooo…I guess my main message here is to avoid ghost-hood by just staying in and never drinking alcohol once you hit thirty, and also that if people could just all agree to haunt horrible politicians once they become ghosts our country would be a lot better off, policy-wise.

Boo, mofos.