Everywhere I go these days the chatter centers around the current state of our economy. Big business. Big banking. Big dollars. Big trouble. Big Pork.

Mmm, pork. Crispy bacon dipped in a cascading pool of glorious Vermont Maple Syrup... Cue cheesy porn music...

Sorry, where was I?

Oh, yeah.

And while I love a good dialog - Ok I love a good debate - about the current political climate, I think I have reached the point of being completely fed up. There is just not enough vodka or lemons on the world.

But I would like to say this... whatever happened to personal responsibility? What ever happened to self control?

It was a particularly unruly crowd this night. Although maybe unruly is a harsh word. They were - spunky. And aggressive. And reacted in an overly excited manor to the little things like the mixed nuts at the bar.

Come to think of it, they were unruly - unruly as Hell.

Though I think people have Spring Fever so much so that little things like a tray full of crab puffs make them get all hand-wavy and screetchy like a bunch of little girls at a Miley Cyrus Concert. (Small interjection - that little thing is an annoying little troll)

At one point in the evening I was making the rounds when I found a man - Howard - over in the corner clutching his stomach. I walked over to ask if he was OK and be blurted out, "The shrimp... the shrimp made me sick. You have a problem here." And my heart sank to the very bottom of my toes. I played it over and over in my head - where I got them, how I prepped them, how they were served... and then I looked around the room to see if anyone else was in the same throes of agony. My gut instinct was to pull every last little pink and plumpie off the floor.

And then Howard's wife came walking over.

"Howard. Knock it off. Or go to the car. I am tired of looking at you like this. And you better not be telling this nice woman its her fault. Though I am guessing by the look on her face its too late."

Wow, nice woman? She clearly didn't know me. But I have to say, her eye glare at Howard and her clear impatience with his plight did make me seem like the nice one. And I know the look on my face was saying, 'seriously, your husband is in pain. help him.'

But then she filled me in. "You see, Howard is sick from the shrimp. But not because they were bad - they were delicious, by the way. Can you give up the goods on how you prepared them? Anyway, Howard is sick from the shrimp because he ate - and I am ashamed to say this out loud - but he ate 35 of them. No, wait. 36. That I know of. And that's not even mentioning everything else he threw back. What was the final count on the crab puffs again?"

I let out a huge sigh. And then I folded my arms and shot Howard a raised-eyebrow look. "Well well well, Howie..." But before I could finish he held up his hand and ran for the restrooms.

His wife looked to me and said, "I am sorry if he scared you. His lack of self control is disgusting at times. But so is mine. See these shoes? He asked how much they were and I said One Ninety Five. He whooped and hollered excited over the fact that I found a pair of shoes for a Dollar Ninety-Five. I mean like I found the greatest shoe sale of all man kind. But, he will figure it out when the Visa bill comes. Now... about those Shrimp..."

Self Control, people.