How to Ruin Your Friday Night

The other night I decided it would be a good idea to get as drunk as one possibly can without having to have their stomach pumped by someone with judgmental eyebrows.

So, I procured some Vodka and some leftover Patron, a good drinking partner, and excellent music.

We set out on our journey before dinner time.

{This was likely the first sign that this night wasn't to end well. Writers like to foreshadow, even in their own real lives.}

I decided it would be a good idea to take a couple shots of Patron early on.

Getting the party started.

Warming up.

Priming the pump, if you will.

Apparently, taking shots of Patron before drinking your share of a bottle and a quarter of Smirnoff, is in fact NOT "getting the party started".

It's bringing two of your heaviest drinking phases of your life, colliding together in a haze of rap music and poor decision making.

By not even 9 p.m., we were sitting outside in the 100+ degree heat, rapping along to Montel Jordan, Eminem and Jay Z.

I made sure everyone knew I would've made a phenominal rapper.

By 10 o'clock we had turned my bedroom into a dance club from 1999, sweating and white-girl girating to TLC, Destiny's Child, and {for the love of God} Garth Brooks.

When Miranda Lambert came on, we should've put the Vodka away and gone to bed.

When I changed my pants TWICE in front of everyone, we should've packed it in.

When I stopped dancing and just started singing along to the music with my eyes closed - in a serious way - we should've probably given in and gone to the ER for the stomach pumping and judgmental eyebrows.

But we soldiered on.

The next morning, I woke up to something incessantly beeping in my house, and as soon as I opened my eyes I felt the goose egg size lightning rod ripping apart my skull from the space between my eyes, and I knew the only thing I had in my immediate future, was a greasy breakfast, a gallon of water, and some Starbucks.

Maybe a Netflix marathon if the pain subsided enough to tolerate a sound louder than a whisper.

 

 What does all this mean?
It means that not only am I not learning a damn thing from my mistakes, I'm apparently starting to forget stuff I already knew, as well.

We soldier on.