This blog was in desperate need of some debauchery…

The best part about a new job is going out with your fellow coworkers and getting drunk with them for the first time. Then showing up to work the next day to see who has the best debauchery story.

Not to brag or anything, but I think I won…

I came into work yesterday morning with coffee, OJ, a bottle of water, and a “f*ck off” attitude. Yes, I, Ms Puddin,’ actually got a chance to go out and enjoy myself. Hallelujah!

Saturday night started off at J*’s house taking vodka shots and snapping MySpace pictures. By 12:00 a.m. we were downtown and I was poppin’ a squat in the parking garage. I was wearing a dress and trying not to pee on my new $200 boots. (Yes I paid $200 for a pair of boots and then wore them, drunk, to a bar). Classy!!!

We get up to the front of the bar and I see my boy. He works security at the door, so we cut the line. Four girls and one guy head inside. I mean, four drunk girls and one drunk guy stumble inside.

Since I had on my f*ck-me-now boots, a dress and the other girls didn’t look so bad themselves. We end up getting, oh, I don’t know, more drinks than a hooker in Vegas. We party it up inside doing the usual, dancing like sluts and running to the bathroom every five minutes because we “broke the seal.” (And yes, occasionally that arm did go up).

The next thing I know, some guy in a black shirt that reads “STAFF,” (I guess that makes him important?) is telling me last call for alcohol. Which is cool, because I think I’ve reached the legal limit for alcohol poisoning. By that point, I started to get that feeling where I know I need to either go somewhere, anywhere and lie down or throw up. Without telling anyone, I stumble out of the bar and hail a cab. I tell the driver to take to me to the first place that comes to mind, my ex boyfriend’s house. I know, I know, I blame it on the liquor. Period.

For the, oh, I don't know, 6,732 time, I hop the fence to his apartment complex and stumble up the stairs. I start banging on the door and ringing the doorbell. I’m just about to give up and start throwing rocks at his window, when the front door swings open. A very irritated and groggy ex boyfriend is standing in the doorway peering down at me in his briefs.

“Um, I’m drunk can I crash over here,” I slurred. Actually it sounded more like, “I stunk man I had beer over here.”

He turns around heading back to bed. The only thing he says over his shoulder is, “take off your shoes.”

I laid down, but his room was spinning and I would have paid anything to get off that ride. I had to keep my eyes half open to prevent projectile vomiting vodka everywhere. I eventually passed out. I woke up about 4 hours later, which is where I get back to the part about me coming to work with a lot of liquids and a messed up attitude…so how was your weekend???

P.S.- If you haven't, checked out this clipping below, you might as well since you've already read this far…it's shorter, I promise…