My life as a run-on sentence

[moragmacpherson]

It's Father's Day, my mother just started a phone conversation with the line, "How's your pustule?" (don't ask, but apparently, it's fine), I'm drinking whiskey to recover from the hangover of having been the designated driver last night at my cousin's bachelor party (which meant that I was the one who got to 1) make sure the bouncers didn't beat up the entire groomsmen corps and 2) do the math on how to divvy up the accidental $380 lap dance tab that one of the younger men ran up when they didn't bother to explain to him that it was $20 per song in the VIP rooms), and beta-ing an excellent John-fic which is all-too appropriate for Father's Day and which I'm totally spoiled for right now because I'm the only one who can read it until its BB posting date (and, hmm, maybe I shouldn't be confessing to beta-ing while drinking whiskey, but my grammar stands up to alcohol fairly well).

I hope you're all having lovely, lovely days.