It all starts innocently enough. It’s a weeknight and you could not be more bored.
You’re scrolling through your Facebook feed, but after the sixteenth couples’ photo in front of a poorly decorated tree, you realize…
Seriously. They all have boyfriends. WTF.
After a few clicks and opening a bottle of wine, you end up on your ex’s page. You’re scrolling through photo after photo of him and his new slutty girlfriend and remembering when he told you that he’d “love you forever.”
But you’re not falling for those baby blues again. Remember that time he just left you at a bar? HE LEFT YOU THERE.
At this point, you’ve finished your bottle of wine and you decide to call him up and let him know that you are SO done.
You start telling everyone in your group chat, and they’re all like:
Eventually, you’re just like:
And you fall asleep in a pile of burrito wrappers. That is, until you wake up the next morning and all you have to say is…
It’s Thursday and it’s girls’ night out. No matter what happens, you’re positive you’re going to have the best night ever.
You’re a couple drinks in, and you’re feeling pretty good.
You get out on the dance floor and you’re absolutely killing it.
Suddenly, your best friend leans over and tells you that guy you always thought was so hot is totally checking you out.
So you down a few more drinks and get ready to walk over to him.
You head over, trying to be as casual as possible without slurring your words:
He’s a guy, so IMMEDIATELY he’s ready to drag you home.
Thankfully, your friends are watching out for you, so they come rescue you.
You get a few more drinks at the bar, but the next thing you know, that asshole is hitting on some other girl. On the outside, you’re like:
But on the inside, you’re all:
Your best friend notices you’re on edge, so she takes you to the car immediately, where you really are like:
She knows the only thing to fix this is instant carbs, so she takes you to Qdoba. At first you refuse.
But then the queso shows up, and you’ve forgotten all about that idiot.
Your friend tells you it’s time to go home, but you’re suddenly ravenously hungry.
Thankfully, she comes to the rescue again, reminding you that you have a formal in three days.
At this point, though, you’re completely at her mercy. God help you.
She leads you toward a couch, and you know that’s the end of it for you. You’ll do better next weekend…probably.
You start off with a little pregame, so you know you’re at your absolute peak when you show up to the bar.
You’re already feeling pretty good, so you walk into the bar feeling like this:
You make sure everyone knows you’re here to party and you’re not fucking around.
You’re five shots in at this point, and your song comes on.
You casually make your way over to the hottest guy at the bar, who was totally checking out your dance moves.
Aaaaaand then, it hits you.
But your best friend is there holding your hair back, and she’s being all like:
The next thing you know, it’s morning, and you’re just lying on the floor like:
And at that point, you finally know you’ll survive…at least until next weekend..