We’ve all been there. Your friend invites you out to celebrate the fact that it’s the weekend, you got a new job, they ended a bad relationship, or just your sad, pathetic life in general. You’re just both surprised to have made it this far without dying of the beetus yet.
You tell yourself you’re only going to have two beers, but six beers and four buttery nipples later and you’re up shit crick (as the southern folk say) without a map (because they’re not known for their intellect). But not to worry, recovering from a night such as that provides copious amounts of overlap with The Walking Dead. So, you’re basically a star. Congratulations you overachieving gypsy of the night.
Moving suddenly becomes difficult as you try to lift your sad, lifeless body from whatever god forsaken surface you fell asleep on.
It is at this point you’ll make the mistake of looking at your pale, dusty face in the mirror.
Then you start to remember all of the stuff you did the night before. Sure, your friends encouraged you to do them…that’s what they’re for. But then there’s also reality. And that’s to remind you that you’re actually a stupid, stupid bitch.
Now you have to locate where your stupid self left your keys, wallet, and cell phone.
You too, like Maggie, feel pregnant…with liquor.
Bathing becomes a dicey situation. You feel your spirit simultaneously melting and re birthing itself.
Actual footage of you coping with what you’ve become.
When your friends suggest going to brunch.
You actually attempting to eat.
Stumbling across the photos from the night before. #glamourshots
People can say what they want, but you made it! You conquered a night out and and made the after effects your bitch. You’re a powerful moon soldier who can do anything. You go, girr.