So last night I went out to Game Night at my buddy Mur’s, as is my usual habit on Tuesdays, and midway through an overly complicated game about alien invasions, I got a phone call from my agent, informing me that (major publishing company) had made a two-book offer on (project) for (more money than I make in a year on art.)  (Details forthcoming once offer is finalized and accepted.)

I gibbered a bit.

When I got back to the party, my friends, dear people all, decided that I needed to celebrate this, and Joe, who by now I am beginning to see as a kind of alcohol-laden guardian angel, poured me a little more bourbon than was probably needed, whereupon I got thoroughly soused.
“Do you want some wine, maybe…?” asked Mur, as bourbon fumes roared through my nasal cavities, scouring them bare.

“Oh, no,” said Joe, holding up a hand, as I reeled from the bourbon, “wait just a minute, you’ll see. She’s a really cheap date.”

I slid gently downwards towards the floor, and said “I have a two book deal…” and commenced giggling hysterically.

And there was much rejoicing, and then there was more bourbon, and then there were strict orders to drink water so that I didn’t go to the tattoo parlor hungover–“Yes, boss…*glugglug*”–and then my Mom called–“HI, URSULA’S MOM!” chorused the assembled, “Hi, everybody…” said my mother, who is a very good sport about this sort of thing, and then my buddy Kevin drove, thank god, because by that point I was only standing upright with assistance from various parties and walls.

Fortunately, I am a reasonably good-natured drunk who does not vomit. And I am not hungover today, and I need to go have a big meal because I’m about to get a major tattoo and OH MY GOD, TWO BOOK DEAL HOLY CRAP–!!

2008, you rock my world.