[You can read the last installment of Chasing Chastity here]

“What’s going on?”

“Where are you, babe?” I crunched on a vodka-infused ice cube and sipped the remains of my tenth cocktail.

“I’m on my way home for lunch. I have about two hours between classes, so I thought I’d grab a quick bite. You wanna make me a sandwich?”

“Uhhh . . . sure?”

I bolted from the couch and knocked the phone out of my hand. As I bent down to retrieve it, I tripped over the dog, and smashed my head into our coffee table.

Immobilized, bleeding, I drifted off . . .

“Glenn? Glenn? Honey?” Jason’s tie brushed against my nose and a few mumbling shadows lurked behind him. It turned out those ominous figures were a team of paramedics.

“Mr. Woodson, it looks like your wife was drinking at the time of the fall. We need to check for signs of a concussion. If she checks out, then she won’t need to come to the E.R. with us.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Jason said. He turned away from the shadowy figures, and crouched near my face. “Jesus, am glad I came home. What would’ve happened to you if I hadn’t? Your face is covered in dried blood.” Read More »

You know what I love doing after a nice, long, relaxing weekend? Waking up to the sound of bells ringing and sweating Wallstreet dudes screaming from the rooftops.

That’s right. The stock market is falling. Faster than the drunken hook-ups at Sundance, faster than the disappearance of Amy Winehouse’s crack stash—just…fast.

Some people think we’re headed into a recession. Which is just the kind of news I love to hear after receiving my first monstrous student loan bill in the mail.

Those who enjoy depressing themselves can go to CNN for updates.