Blacking out: We all do it, regret it the next morning and then repeat. The problem is, we don’t realize that we're on the way to blacking out until it just happens. Next thing you know, you wake up with 50 duck-face selfies and at least three pictures with some random dude you have no recollection of meeting, all while trying to figure out where the f*ck you are, how you got there, and how you can get home FAST.
No matter how many times we wake up in the morning with shame and regret, feeling like Precious punched us in the face, the women of Gen-Y just can’t stop and won’t stop. As much of a mystery as our blackout nights will always be, there’s a general timeline that sums up every blackout bitch's night out.
Bring a water bottle full of vodka to the pregame just in case there isn’t enough alcohol there for you to forget your middle name by the time you get to the bar.
Arrive at the pregame and immediately ask someone to rip shots with you so that you can forget your insecurities and forget that you’re still violently hungover from the previous night.
Sh*t. Everyone wants to leave and you’re not drunk enough yet. You down two last shots and pray for the best. This will take an extra ten minutes because there isn’t one girl who knows how to take a shot the right way.
Arrive at the bar and wait an hour on line. Since you’re already pretty f*cked up, you either don’t give a sh*t about the line because you have no sense of time, or you’re feeling ballsy and trying to sneak past the large chocolate man at the door.
You finally somehow made it into the Gansevoort and you sobered up while waiting outside. You search for the closest guy who will buy you a drink who’s attractive enough to look at for five minutes before he actually gets you the drink.
Three tequila shots later. That guy wasn’t f*cking around. You’ve officially lost all sense of morals or judgement. You start screaming the words to “Clarity” by Zedd with your friends in a circle because it's like totally your song! You’re reaching blackout, which is why none of you realize how obnoxious you sound to everyone within a 100 foot radius.
You’re f*cked. This is when you stop smiling in pictures and start sticking out your tongue for no reason.
That guy from the beginning of the night finds you again, only now that you’re blacked out, he’s five times more attractive and you’re five times more desperate. But then someone says the word pizza and you’re forced to make the decision: are you going to gain calories or burn them tonight?
You realize everyone else you were with left the bar and you’re barefoot dancing on a couch. It’s time to make moves. You head to the bathroom, where you quickly pull the trigger. You wind up having a heart-to-heart with the bathroom attendant and inexplicably tip her twenty dollars.
You finally head out. Now you have to sort out your priorities: pizza or men. At this point it is probably the toughest decision of your life. If you choose the guy, you stumble into a cab and the rest is history. If you choose the pizza, you stumble to the nearest pizzeria and the rest is still history. One time I even met a guy at the pizza place, which could have been a win-win, but I just winded up eating the rest of his pizza when he left. Sorry, most definitely not sorry.
Bonus: you make the guy buy you a pint of Ben & Jerry’s on the way home, which solves the issue of having to choose (just me?).
You naturally wake up early because you need to sneak out of the dude's bed before he wakes up. Better yet, you need to yack from the five slices of pizza you attacked last night like it was your last meal. Either way you’re already regretting the night before.
You realize you took a sh*t ton of pictures last night and get to look through them! This is just what you needed to salvage any sense of dignity you could muster…until you realize that you and your friends look like assholes in 90% of the pictures. F*ck it! Where’s the nearest deli? You definitely need that bacon, egg and cheese to pretend last night never happened.