No rest for my liver

The good news is that I think I’m finally sober.

The bad news is that it’s 11:30 in the morning and I’m at work.

How’s that for awesome?

Last night looked a little something like this:

Met up with Grabs at a bar by her house.
Hit on by redneck dude who thought he had a chance.
Ruthlessly threw Grabs under the bus.
Drank beer.
Made an escape after Grabs gave dude her number. 
Went to another bar that seemed to cater to older people on Thursday nights.
Hit on by old dudes.
Watched the Celtics lose. Boo.
Drank margarita.
Saw a man in a suit leave with a woman wearing a denim jumper. Yes, she was a hooker.
Left to go to more crowded bar club/restaurant next door.
Drank margarita.
Ran into the Big Italian. 
Stole some seats at the bar and realized the hooker was sitting next to us.
Overheard the dude she was with comment to his friend “Hey, I found you some friends for the night.” He was referring to us.
Turned down a Peruvian guy’s offer to dance.
Drank margarita.
Finally accepted guy’s offer.
Stepped on his feet.
A lot.
Was spun.
A lot.
Realized flip flops are not good to dance in.
Drank margarita.
Went back to check on Grabs.
Peruvian dude brought friend over. He was from Belgium and looked like he survived on chocolate and beer.
Drank some drink the guys brought us.
Was probably roofied.
Realized I was more drunk than I thought.
Went to Waffle House with slowest cook ever.
Took drunk pictures of salt shaker and condiments.
Laughed about how funny the words ’special’ and ‘patty’ looked.
Got home at 3:00.
Woke up at 7:00.