15 Questions I Ask Myself At A Bar
1. Why is every single male here wearing a striped collared shirt? Does this place have a uniform I should be aware of?
2. Am I actually expected to talk to anyone other than the small group of people I came with? Seriously?
3. I’m sorry, this eight-ounce watery vodka concoction is costing me how much? I could buy two burritos for that price. Oh my God, burritos…
4. Why did I wear heels? This night was not worth wearing heels for.
5. Do people know I’m being semi-ironic when I shake my ass like this? I am being semi-ironic when I shake my ass like this, right?
6. At what point can I tell this sweaty-faced spiky-haired male that I have a boyfriend? Is it uncouth to suggest that the girl in the scrunchy turquoise dress featuring the exposed ass cheek might be more his speed?
7. Where exactly is the nearest late-night pizza place and how exactly can I get there?
8. Judging by tonight’s music selection, is it reasonable to assume that not everyone hates Lady Gaga as much as I do? Work with me here, people. The woman wears dresses made of meat.
9. Why do girls shop at Forever 21 if they don’t know how to do it correctly? It’s a fine art, you know.
10. At what point is it socially acceptable to order a couple rounds of “bar snacks” acting as if they’re for the group but really looming over them as if I haven’t eaten since I was 12?
11. Why is it that the drunker I get the more normal it seems to take team trips to the girls’ bathroom?
12. How many times this week will I have scrambled eggs for dinner in order to pay for this ginger pear mojito? On a more philosophical note, why did God make poor choices taste so devilishly good?
13. My eyeliner is taking a road trip down south isn’t it? Remind me again why I even bother with makeup?
14. Can we go home now?
15. Wait, we’re going home?? Hold on, I think I need another drink…
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The best thing about being a young adult right now is that you, more than any previous generation, have the freedom and the resources to create your own religion. So, let’s get started.
The apartment you lived in your first year out of school, the walk-up with a view of the street.
I wanted to quit my job. I hated my boss.
His eyes widened, he became angry, and backed off of me. I told him he could leave now. Now. He said “With you being a good Christian girl, and me studying to be a priest, I think it’s important we not tell anyone what we did.”