So on Friday Megan and I went to our favorite disgusting Mexican food restaurant, Amanecer, which is the perfect place to go if you want to eat delicious but gross cheese enchilladas served by the same waitress who never smiles and ignores repeated requests for water, and to drink the most lethal margaritas known to mankind. Seriously - you drink one, and you are crawling home. So we're drinking our first round of margaritas and I'm already drunk as a skunk and then I decide it would be a great idea to have another one immediately. So I drink the second margarita and I am showing all the classic signs of drunkenness: a) constantly denying I'm drunk, b) repeating stories 30 times, c) bitching about my nosejob and d) declaring my love for Perry and how, if he ever dies which he luckily never will, I will drive to the nearest graveyard, dig myself a grave and jump in.
Megan is historically familiar with the signs of my drunkenness, but instead of being a good friend and telling me it was a bad idea to go into the convenience store across the street from Amanecer to buy chocolate, she accompanied in there and acted like it was completely normal when I rolled up to the counter with NUTELLA AND VANILLA WAFERS. Um, are you KIDDING ME? Why don't people stop me? Why, every time when I'm drunk, do I always end up eating something disgusting that I would never eat in normal life - like last weekend it was garlic knots, Haribo gummy bears and a HEATH BAR, and the weekend before it was yogurt covered raisins and Cool Whip. It is other peoples' job to stop me from doing this shit, and if people don't start doing their job, there are going to be some changes around here very soon.