When I fuck up, I seriously fuck up.
The morning after is always interesting.
The ones I know would never judge me, are supportive no matter how stupid my actions were.
The ones I expect to judge my mishap, don’t.
The ones who I believed to be understanding, judge.
Instead of being baffled by any of this, I see it as a test.
How many of these so called friends are truly going to be there the next morning?
Friends are supposed to be there for the bad times too, not just the fucking great times. That’s why I refuse to have more friends that I can count in one hand.
But I’m in fucking Vegas, fuck this and lets go lose all our cash.
