Dear Tequila

Dear Juarez Tequila,

You are a bastard.

Love,
Nikki

Beep, beep, beep, beep. The alarm clock grew louder and louder next to my booze-filled head. I practically punched the snooze button thinking to myself, "Oh hell, just a few more minutes."

I woke up last night several times to run to the kitchen and chug orange juice, water, cranberry juice, whatever liquid I could get my hands on. It's incredible, the rate at which I can drink something when I'm dehydrated from a night of drinking too much. You'd think I had been stranded in the desert for weeks.

Now I'm sitting here at my desk, at work, toting a very large orange Gatorade and a bottle of aspirin (which isn't helping at all, by the way.)

I still don't like my boyfriend.
I ruined my diet last night by drunk eating most of a large pizza.
It's not you, it's me.