Shifting into Autopilot when you're Shit-Faced

“Please tell me you paid the bartender! I’m still drunk.”…that was my text message to R.S. this morning. I woke up this morning…and I could end the sentence there, because that was a miracle. Somewhere between the 2nd and 8th lychee martini that G. strained into my glass, I became unconscious. And that’s the rest of the story.

But life is good. R.S. and I were able to catch up on our menzes, and G. was wearing his signature white v-neck! And can we talk about how nice it was outside this morning temperature-wise!? But alas, all day I was tired as fuck and I needed my king (bed).

So J.K. and I are contemplating the idea of jetting to Vegas for Labor Day Weekend (instead of N.O.)! Vegas…how exciting! Just the thought of Josh Duhamel waiting in my room makes me hard :-) But, I shall not get my hopes up due to the further financial hardship that I would most likely be taking on and the possibility of me siding with my better judgement and staying on the island for my b-day. Either way, I have major issues with my birthday and most years I have been inclined to skip it. It’s one of those “holidays” that brings to the forefront some of my insecurities , and for some reason I’m not a fan of the 9/2.

But I am a fan of Josh.

That’s all I’m gonna say. Oh, and this…

May the licking commence.