You know what I hate / love / hate? Getting unexpectedly drunk in the middle of the day. It just screws you over for the next five hours, but you spend about half of that time giggling and skipping because you're not expecting the immediate hangover.
Yesterday Dan and Kristin, whom I will eventually start calling "My Coupled Friends" because they're the only couple I actually know here, moved into their new house. Janna, James, and I helped them move their big furniture. The move included a trip to pick up the heaviest armoir ever built (ever.), which was quite a feat. After unloading all of their furniture in their living room, Dan told us he'd take us out to lunch for helping out.
We ended up walking about five yards to the closest Mexican restaurant. The place's claim to fame was "The Killer Margarita." I had three. And just when we were just barely the most obnoxious drunk white people in the establishment, our waiter came by with free shots of tequila. We asked him why and he didn't give us an answer. (I think it was to sneak a third pitcher of margaritas on our tab, which Dan caught. Ha Ha! Nice try, amigos!)
Anyway, I should mention here that Dan and Kristin bought the heaviest armoir ever built (ever.) after sharing a pitcher of margaritas. Because I can't afford furniture, I decided to go to DSW instead and buy shoes. And because I was drunk and impatient, I tried on two pairs and bought the second immediately because they were everything I needed (brown, slip-ons, not Sketchers). (I also drunk-dialed my parents because they're in Nags Head right now and I feel like your parents put up with all kinds of inappropriate activity when they're on vacation.)
Nicole was sitting on the couch when I got home, drunk and with new shoes, at six o'clock, and I felt incredibly guilty and ashamed of my behavior. Then I took a brief nap and got over it and went out again.