Last night we somehow ended up walking in to the W Hotel at Union Square soaking wet from the rain, breaking into an upstairs ballroom, and sitting on the floor in the dark, drinking the two bottles of champagne Josh stole from the kitchen and playing Truth or Dare (or, as Colin kept insisting, Truth, Dare, Double Dare, Promise or Repeat) until 3 am. After-work drinks with Josh always have a tendency to turn into one of those nights where Colin shows up already drunk, you start off with a couple rounds of fishbowl-sized margaritas, sing Sweet Child O’ Mine to a roomful of ugly people, and go home eight hours later with a jacked hotel deadbolt in your purse, having to fish your bra out of Colin’s pocket before you get in the cab.
Eight hours. That’s like a work day’s worth of drinking. Why am I not getting paid for this yet?