You know what’s fun? Bar-hopping and flirting with all the tall manly bouncers. You know what’s not fun? The morning after, when it feels like the chestburster from Alien lives inside you, except it’s made of puke.
I would like to kill myself just to not feel like a giant brick with a stomachache, but if I did, I don’t know how you would all survive without my beautiful posts to get you through the day. And being the wonderful girl that I am, I just couldn’t let that happen, so I guess I’ll live to write another day.
But seriously, vodka cranberries and Bahama Mamas, you are vicious and I hate you. (Until next weekend, and then we can kiss and make up.) And as for you stupid lucky non-hungover Readers: THIS.