Oh shit.
Yesterday my drinking buddy told me to come down to the lounge of my building, and she was hanging out with some much older guys from Ontario who were here to see the Grand Prix. We had a couple beers and they ended sort of taking us out on the town. We went out for Chinese food and then walked to old Montreal to go to a bar. Except we didn't go to a fucking bar so I'm kind of pissed because I really want to go to a god damn bar, fuck. Anyhow, wandered around a while and went home. Old Montreal is really cool, btw. Went back to drinking buddy's apartment. She was having intense boyfriend issues followed by a lengthy phone call, so naturally I did the only thing I could, namely to drain a 40 of Labatt 10.1 in about a half hour and then have a couple more. I wound up crashing on her bed...and then throwing up a little on her bed in my sleep, which is fucked up. Because it's her birthday. I woke up around 9ish, staggered home, and went back to sleep. I woke up with a call from her telling me to come over so we can start drinking. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-
Seriously, though, it was only a little spit-up but I did throw up in my sleep, which is probably the worst way to die that is actually likely to happen I can think of. Fortunately I always sleep on my side but wtf. Also, my phone has a bunch of texts in it that I don't remember sending at all.
Also, fuck hangovers. There's stuff I need to do today, and it's not getting done at all. And I'm hungry and I missed breakfast. Fuck.
Fuck drinking. Don't drink, people.
Also,
fuck trumpet players. FUCK. STOP PLAYING THE TRUMPET. YOU SUCK.