Drunk in SF (Because that's the most accurate title)

So...my boyfriend and I planned a lovely little day in San Francisco on Sunday. (We even spent hours painstakingly tracking the MUNI route so we could travel via public transportation all day!) Everything started off as planned: we paid a visit to The Buena Vista, a small restaurant that Roehl's been dying to visit, one that just so happens to serve up some lethal "world famous" Irish coffee.

Let me just start off by saying that this is not going to be one of those typical oh-how-lovely-and-glorious-life-is posts.  I'm going to conclude that thought with the wise words of an old friend: "Never mix your liquor. Just DON'T. DO. IT." Now you know, kids. Moving on...

After my little Irish coffee experience, I had quite a decent buzz going, and I was ready to tackle our next destination- brunch. We dined at Paul K, because this is one of the better places to get your bottomless mimosa on, and we all know how much I love a good bottomless mimosa sesh. Here's where that whole "no mixing" thing came into play. After 4 glasses, I was embarrassingly sloshed with an oncoming mimosa coma. Roehl was smart and didn't want to get tired, so he had opted out of said self-induced mimosa coma.

At one point, I even broke a champagne glass in half with my obnoxious drunk girl strength, as I was literally just setting it down on the table (I swear!) The rest of the day had all gone to shit, and I had no desire to partake in vintage shop festivities, which is unheard of for this gal. I was tired, disoriented, and just plain drunk. It sucked.

I got a few good pictures out of it though...

I wish I had a more lively story to tell you, but that's the truth folks.  Plain & simple.  I suppose a do-over is in order. If any of you have some good old-fashioned daytime drunk stories, please share! We can commiserate together. :)