Sometimes a night of debauchery is necessary. Once a week is perfect. In honour of yesterday's French Canadian holiday, mine occurred last night. It was the best St. Jean Baptiste day ever. (Note: even though I don't live in Quebec, I still enjoy celebrating other culture's holidays)
Below is an attept to recall my train of thoughts throughout the night:
Bottle Service. Yikes. No one ever drinks the OJ. Cran & OJ are like Salt & Pepper to a meal full of vodka and red bull. Fake boobs. Great DJ. Too much ice. Stylish hat. Girls in dresses. Shorter. High heels. Michael Kors. Dancing on booth. Shoes come off. Where is my purse? Jay-Z remixed with Van Halen? It's in the corner. Smiling. Grinding. Daft Punk. Should go home. Having too much fun. It's getting late. Have to be up early. Dizzy. Water. Have to pee. Can't stop dancing. Can't stand straight. More water. My dress is short. Shots of Patron. Yuck. Time to leave. Pizza.
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