15 Questions I Ask Myself At A Bar
1. Why is every single male here wearing a striped collared shirt? Does this place have a uniform I should be aware of?
2. Am I actually expected to talk to anyone other than the small group of people I came with? Seriously?
3. I’m sorry, this eight-ounce watery vodka concoction is costing me how much? I could buy two burritos for that price. Oh my God, burritos…
4. Why did I wear heels? This night was not worth wearing heels for.
5. Do people know I’m being semi-ironic when I shake my ass like this? I am being semi-ironic when I shake my ass like this, right?
6. At what point can I tell this sweaty-faced spiky-haired male that I have a boyfriend? Is it uncouth to suggest that the girl in the scrunchy turquoise dress featuring the exposed ass cheek might be more his speed?
7. Where exactly is the nearest late-night pizza place and how exactly can I get there?
8. Judging by tonight’s music selection, is it reasonable to assume that not everyone hates Lady Gaga as much as I do? Work with me here, people. The woman wears dresses made of meat.
9. Why do girls shop at Forever 21 if they don’t know how to do it correctly? It’s a fine art, you know.
10. At what point is it socially acceptable to order a couple rounds of “bar snacks” acting as if they’re for the group but really looming over them as if I haven’t eaten since I was 12?
11. Why is it that the drunker I get the more normal it seems to take team trips to the girls’ bathroom?
12. How many times this week will I have scrambled eggs for dinner in order to pay for this ginger pear mojito? On a more philosophical note, why did God make poor choices taste so devilishly good?
13. My eyeliner is taking a road trip down south isn’t it? Remind me again why I even bother with makeup?
14. Can we go home now?
15. Wait, we’re going home?? Hold on, I think I need another drink…