drunk bitches

So awhile ago I promised someone I'd write an essay regarding my thoughts as to why females in college through their 20's will put up with basically anything their friends do to them. I have quite a laundry list of things I may or may not have done, things my friends may or may not have done, in short this post for all intensive purposes (in case my employees or boss find this) is completely fictional. Not like "a million pieces" fictional, more like "Lindsay Lohan's account to US Weekly regarding her recent split fictional - I'm writing it whilst in an emotional state and will later recant all statements and claim everything I said was false" kind of fictional.
I refuse to go into any hairy details - especially ones regarding vomit upon my exposed foot, vomit upon my poor car seat, road cones, unidentified bruises, late night chicken nuggets, a lack of slacks, fist fighting, bitch slapping, running from cops, running from each other, running from mythical beasts, running from real beasts, being a real beast and I would never delve into anything involving wearing a pair of bad decision pants, markedly noticeable when one wakes up to last nights bad decision, and wonders what you'll have to say to get them out of your bed and more importantly out of your life.. forever... (personal favorite - oh shit, its 9am? the fumigators were supposed to be here at 8... effing case of scabies jus won' quit! ... must be in the sheets...)
What I've realized, about halfway through my 20's is that you know you have good friends when you go to bed at 4am, all kinds of pissed off, or knowing people are all kinds of pissed off at you, but then waking up at 10am the next morning, meeting for breakfast in your soggy state and laughing your ass off about what happened last night. I may be a bit late on this realization but I know I'm not wrong thinking its pretty awesome. I hope this isn't something that's contained to just my crew, but the fact that the next morning I can wake up, call up a friend and be like yoo I'm so sorry I called you a douche bag last night as you were driving my drunk ass home, and know they'll be all whatever yo it was funny, makes me feel all pretty awesome. We all know it goes both ways, one weekend its our turn to fuck up, and the next weekend we'll be the ones rolling our eyes and coercing our friends to safety, away from the large Italian stallion with the barbed wire tattoo and heart shaped jacuzzi "back home at his mammas - no she'll give us meat balls for breakfast it'll be aawesome ... JAGERBOMB yahh". As long as this delicate balance is not perturbed, I feel like I'll have these friends forever, as long as they don't tell my future children about our adventures, or at least wait til they're like 16 and will be capable of understanding that nope, no one can drink and fight like their mamma an they better not try to one up...
So this, the fourth Thirsty Thursday of April, I am on the verge of yet another evening on the town, and I can't really be sure who's turn it is to be Sloppy Sally, but rest assured that whatever happens, at least we'll have something to talk about over breakfast..