I really want to get shitfaced, high out of my mind and be on a date while I do that. Talk shit, and hope to god (despite that agnostic status on Facebook) that the bar I'm at is playing Arctic Monkeys while I laugh and look sideways, and wonder if my hair is looking just as glorious as it did when I blow dried them before leaving. Realizing I was worrying for nothing about not coordinating the lingerie because it's not as if this is going to go anywhere besides our respective home and he'll possibly jack off to his last girlfriend, and I'll crash in bed without brushing my teeth and that's as much fun I'd have had from these numerous drinks and a joint and a half.