Friday night was just one of those rediculous nights of drinking. Starts innocently enough. Q, LB and I were hanging out in LB's new apartment in the W. Village (it's sick!) and we were drinking wine and eating tacos. How things got to the level of drunk that they did I cannot uderstand. But like I said, it was one of those rediculous nights of boozing. The kind where you make BFFS with total strangers and frolic from bar to bar. The kind where you remember the first bar you go to but slowly forget the names of the rest of the establishments you end up finding along the course of the night. The kind where you end up in a Penthouse apartment in Times Square with three guys you don't know and have to make a quick exit. The kind where you can't get out of bed for an entire day. The kid where you think your hangover just may kill you. The kind that on Sunday, two days after the initial drink-fest, your friends call you because they realize that you may have made decisions that night that could have led to death.
We are all still alive. Somehow.