Chasing White Rabbits

blissed:

• I pour myself into a ~*~bangin’~*~ dress, head to the Strip to meet up with friends, drink my face off, run into John Mayer and charm him with my disarmingly rapier wit, we kiss at midnight, I give him a fake number because I’m ~*~above~*~ drunken New Year’s Eve hookups, he never quite gets over it and writes a song about me, it goes #1.
• I pour myself into a completely unflattering dress, but I drink while getting ready so I feel totally fierce anyway, head to the Strip to meet up with friends, drink my face off, watch some sweet-ass fireworks, kiss some attractive random, wake up with a hangover on a friend’s couch.
• I break a zipper trying to get into one of the many small dresses I own, but say “fuck it” and wear it anyway, head to the Strip to meet up with friends, drink my face off, black out sometime midway through the fireworks display, vomit at least once in public, wake up with a hangover on a friend’s bathroom floor.
• Opt for jeans and meet up with a girl friend at a bar that apparently has half-price drinks and no cover tonight, drink my face off, watch some lushes ride this bar’s mechanical bull, laugh about it, wake up hungover on friend’s couch.
• All of the above except I get drunk enough to attempt the mechanical bull myself, injure myself, cry in public, kiss my own hand at midnight, wake up hungover on friend’s couch with mascara tear streaks on my cheeks and some kind of pulled muscle.
• I sit around in my pajamas in bed, drink an undisclosed number of vodka-based mixed drinks, make a ton of whiny/drunken posts on Tumblr, pass out while listening to the DJ Hero soundtrack on repeat, wake up with a hangover.
• I sit around in my pajamas in bed, maybe watch Stepbrothers and/or Bad Santa, fall asleep before the ball drop, wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and laugh at all the hungover assholes while silently lamenting my sad existence and developing a grudge against myself for not getting an earlier flight to Boston.

This is the most quality post I have ever read. 

Yep, I’m the last option (minus the Boston flight). It’s two hours before midnight and the drunken idiots are already doing fireworks and freaking out my big baby of a dog. The grudge-holding has commenced.