“No party is any fun unless seasoned with folly.” ~Desiderius Erasmus
I’ve never been one of those girls who feel it necessary to describe my every drunk moment in detail complete with quotes and shit that is really funny when inebriated but sharp object in an eye socket worthy, when sober. There’s also a pesky memorization problem (Read: lack there of).
Given the above circumstances, please forgive me as I publicly try to rehash my evening. An evening which could best be described as a vodka tour of our nation’s capital. I preferred the Ketel One and Red Bull mix for the record. Very little hangover and far better than the Grey goose and cranberry at Love. Special shout out to Verizon: I already hate you in ways indescribable and even more hate for a lack of open bar. I figured with the $300 you milk from me each month would suffice enough to provide for free booze, but I suppose not.
Despite the lack of hangover, I, being the Peep Toe Queen of the World ™ , now have a busted knee and for some reason no feeling in one of my little piggies. Both of which I deserve as a punishment (hello karma! We meet again) because I returned home last evening to be sarcastically mean – natch – to one of my very favorites. But I guess he should be happy that I didn’t call him 'gay' or a 'girl' like I usually do.