I am here to highlight a phenomenon that has repeatedly happened to me over the last few years.  This is serious, people.  This is about shots (shots! shots! shots shots!) and the proper fun-maximizing usage of the party-fuel that shots give you.

So, I’d say on an average evening out in the good ol’ Cambridge, where the bars close at 2 and the parks are sketchy, there will inevitably be a time when someone proposes….SHOOOTSSSSS!  Woohoooo! But the problem is, by the time someone is “happy” (aka tipsy) enough to propose this, it’s usually like…1:29 and last call is at 1:30. And you know how shots really finally hit you about 20 minutes after you take them. Which is juuuust enough time for me to make it home and then suddenly get really drunk, right as I open the door.  And the night pretty much ends the same way every time: me being super wasted, drunk-eating nachos alone in my living room.

Don’t let this happen to YOU.   Although now that I think about it, that’s actually a pretty sweet deal.  Aw man, I miss Cambridge.    

random rant by Liz (wishing she had some nacho-flavored rantpants somewhere around the house right now)