This blog's title was coined by Dorothy Parker, patron saint of boozy writer broads, and pretty much sums up my year to date.
Hell, not even year. We're talking the last, oh, two months. Plenty of curveballs, plus the odd wild pitch that plunks you in the ear and would send you to first base if you weren't staggering around claiming you were Lord Nelson.
The details aren't interesting, and of course, things could be worse. They could always be worse (I'm two generations from hardcore Lutheran but that mindset is baked in the blood). There's plenty to be happy about and grateful for.
But right now, I'm having a martini. Join me!