Drunk Log #462

Yeaagh. My mouth feels like I cleaned a kitty litter box with my tongue. And why is my bra on inside-out? What the hell day is this...Thursday? Who the hell goes out on a Wednesday night? This dumb-ass, that's who. I've got to be at work in, oh, 12 minutes. No problem, even though I need to shower, brush the scum off my tongue and google "how to remove Sharpie smiley faces on my boobs". Man, what even happened last night? It was...someone's birthday at the local bar. No, wait, I just went for an after-work drink with a friend. Who then promptly disappeared on me after my Celine Dion rendition of "Glycerine"...and I don't recall the bar ever having a Karaoke machine. Coffee...I need coffee...some sort of liquid that can save me from this 18,000 jackhammering headache that just hit my skull. Oh dear God my hair looks frightful, better try and brush it down...is that GUM in my hair? Fuck. Where's the scissors? Oh fuck it, I'll just put it back in a bun, no one will notice. Now, just grab clothes and get the hell out of here, where's my shoes, where's my black heels, they're not in the closet...hmm...maybe they're under the bed?

AIAAAGH! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!?!?