Ohmygod.... Last night was out of control. I had a blast, but am definitely paying for it this morning. When I woke up, the clock said it was 66::000. Even though I was clearly still drunk, I realized that it probably wasn't sixty-six thousand o'clock, and left a voicemail for my boss calling out sick.
Ugh. Why the fuck can't i get an egg mcmuffin at 1PM? If I can figure out where my shoe is, I'm going to In N Out. They'll pray for me.
Or maybe i'll just go back to bed.
Lucky for me, I drank my fourth and fifth (I think) margaritas after midnight, so I'm going to take it easy tonight--so my quota's already filled.
I hate my friends.
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Bro, don't be such a pansy. Get off the sofa, strap on a pair, and get ready for this weekend. If you're gonna do this, do it properly. I'll be there 100% of the way to pick your sad, drunken ass off the floor.
Seth's party is this weekend: Triple kegger, in Venice. Kiss your liver goodbye, Broman!
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