Change is in the air.

Got ragingly drunk on Friday. The night began with a six pack of Michelob Ultra Amber stashed in my purse, some sugar free red bull to negate the exhaustion and ended with an infamous rum punch drink from everyone's favorite local Chinese restaurant that happens to moonlight as a bar Thursday through Saturday.

Sometime after I downed that last drink, my brain stopped committing things to memory. It's a blur. I may have confessed my undying love, of which I was even unaware, to my friend who I sometimes sleep with. I also ate pizza with chop sticks. The next morning, he asked me, without divulging details, if I remembered trying to have an important conversation with him. I thought hard, I thought long and all I could come up with was a dull sense of being embarrassed. I immediately covered my face with a pillow, which seemed like an appropriate reaction to being mortified. I made him promise never to tell me what it was I attempted to discuss even though I can guess without even trying what it was I attempted to goad him into.

As if I wasn't already ashamed of my very public intoxication, he reminded me that at some point after arriving back at his apartment, which he shares with several of my high school friends, I disappeared into his bedroom where I proceeded to take my clothes off and fold them neatly in a corner and wait for him to happen upon me. I'm not exactly sure why he would complain about that. I may have also repeated some lines from a Jenna Jameson film or two. Again, I fail to see why any of this is bad.