When the bartender politely explained that it was last call I politely reminded him that cocktails are served until dot dot dot o’clock. Then I hahaha’ed all the way to the exit.
It's all downhill from here...
I’ve been using this Nalgene bottle since college for all my outdoor boozing needs. But I like to think that filling it up with white wine instead of vodka is an obvious indicator that I’ve matured.
Salt. Lime. Tequila. Something. Something. Something. Drunk.
At a bar in Torrance drinking the platinum, because I’m fancy duh. Of course you order platinum when you come in from that damn LA. I feel safe and secure and welcome because I “might get robbed but not raped.”
I forgot my ID and made a lot of awkward chit chat/believed that someone had crisp 5 dollar bills because he habitually returns wrinkled ones in an effort to avoid being carded. It worked. That or I’m just old.
