6:02pm -- I head over to Emily's place to start drinking with her and all her Georgetown friends. No, that 6pm is not a typo. And it's probably where the trouble begins.
7:48pm -- By this time it's obvious that Emily's friends really are as awesome (and alcoholic) as she's claimed. The jokes about unprotected sex with minors start flowing, much like vodka into my mouth.
8:55pm -- About 9 of us stagger to the subway with plenty of "fruit juice" in hand.
9:12pm -- I hand out pamphlets of religious propaganda, just for kicks.
9:13pm -- Baby Jesus sheds a silent tear.
9:41pm -- For those of you who remember the insane subway ride from Halloween...well, this made that night look like community service. Some were sprawled on the floor, others were chugging cheap cheap bourbon, and conversations with our fellow passengers included the following:
Random Passenger: SHUT! UP!
Jessica: YOU DON'T KNOW ME! I'M CRAZY!!
10:11pm -- While walking to a house party on the upper east side, Emily suddenly falls, eats sixty-third street, and has to be taken to the hospital to get stitches. Not even funny, I know.
10:13pm -- The Weekend Fun Warriors soldier on towards the party, in honor of our fallen comrade.
10:54pm -- Apparently I "fell down in the kitchen, but not too many people saw." Nice.
11:31pm -- I head west to meet up with some other people, but I'm not sure what their apartment number is.
11:50pm -- I am found passed out on a couch in their lobby. We head to a lesbian bar.
2:23am -- After falling down several times in the lesbian bar, and unintentionally elbowing a couple of lesbians in their lesbian faces, I may or may not have been asked to leave.
2:24am to 11:00am -- I don't have a fucking clue.
11:07am -- I wake up with all kinds of cuts and bruises, still COMPLETELY HAMMERED, and head for Emily's place. On the way I pick up some breakfast and a chocolate milkshake, and stumble over a small child.
11:08am -- Satan tidies up my spot in Hell.
11:18am -- I get a text message that says that I'm "fun times USA". I feel marginally better about being wasted at 11 in the morning.
12:13pm -- In his bid to be poster boy for retards, Joe is sitting in the corner of Emily's apartment, eating salt. WTF dude. Seriously.
1:44pm -- My major organs begin to fail as I transition from drunk to hungover, and I head home to pass out.
Sadly, when I think to myself "at least no one got arrested", I actually feel better about the whole thing. I think my new low standard for a successful evening speaks volumes about the state of my "life" right now.
(And if anyone is wondering "Hey but what happened on Friday night?", I assure you, I have no idea either.)