Last weekend, my friends and I were once again running behind on our pregame. It was approaching midnight before we finally decided to hit up Rí Rá in Uptown. Normally, we go straight to the second floor, but since it was supposed to be a low-key night (read: we could remember how many shots we had already taken), we decided to stay on the first level.

Before this night, I’d never really noticed the exposed brick, cozy fireplace or performance area — that really speaks to my past experiences at Rí Rá.

Just as I was settling into my “new” surroundings and decided to head to the bar for the first round, I saw one of my girlfriends chatting it up with another small group of people. One looked oddly familiar — it was her ex!

It’s bad enough social media makes it impossible to avoid seeing an ex-lover again. You would think that in a city of almost 800,000 people, it would be close to impossible to run into the one person you’re trying to avoid. Nope!

The morning started like any other — I woke up a little hungover. I was lying in bed trying to decide between going to a doctor’s appointment and sleeping in some more. After deciding that going to appointments were a part of being an adult, I gathered myself and my things together. I was staying at a friend’s and needed to go home first.

Nervous that my friend would come home to find her house had burned down (she’d already left for work), I made sure to double check everything was turned off and just how she left it. I opened the front door, turned the lock, pulled the door closed and made sure it was secure. As I turned to walk to my car in the brisk morning air, I said to myself matter of factly, “You left your car keys on the couch.” I frantically poured the contents of my purse onto the ground. Yep, they were locked inside where they would be for at least 10 more hours while my friend toiled away at her job.

With 12 percent battery life on my phone, I requested an Uber and called my P.I.C., who laughed at me. “Well,” she said, “come on over to my house. We have lots of games to watch and drinking to do.”

Smudged with makeup and wearing an aroma of morning breath, I plopped down in my Uber with a driver whom I’ve had before — another sign I go out too much. We laughed about my predicament as he dropped me off at the “usual spot” and encouraged me to drink the day away. Challenge accepted.

Last weekend, I met a girl we’ll call Stacy. She shared with me a horror story that I’ll now share with you.

Once upon a time ... just kidding. This story is no fairy tale.

One night out, Stacy met a guy named Adam on the light rail. Although she’d drunkenly given him her number, she had already decided she would probably never see him again, so she ended the evening with friends. A week later, though, he asked to take her out. “I couldn’t remember if his name was really Adam at this point,” she said, but she agreed to meet him.

The two went to Cowfish — a great first date choice by the way, although I tend to judge those not adventurous enough to try sushi. A first time for both, they didn’t realize they would be waiting for an hour. Naturally, they hit up the bar. By the time they were seated, they had drank more than their fair share of martinis. Oh, and she had confirmed his name was, in fact, Adam.

Stacy said she didn’t remember much about the conversation, but assured me it was meaningless. Overall, though, she was enjoying his company — not to mention he was starting to look much more attractive than she remembered.

After dinner, they decided to grab a couple more drinks at the bar. Mistake. Before she knew it, the PDA began, and they headed back to his place. You can imagine what happened next.

It’s the first day of 2015. I’m sitting here trying yet another hangover cure — Airborne Hot Soothing Mix. New year, new me, right? Nope, same hangover. It’s only day one and I’ve already ruined my resolutions.

The problem is whenever I am faced with the question, “To drink or not to drink?” the answer is always, drink! I think we can all agree, however, that it is ridiculous to entertain that question. Of course we should drink. So let’s focus on more important details: What and how much we are going to drink?

Even with my big 2-5 looming, I feel confident in assuming that most of us 20-somethings on a tight budget still find ourselves throwing back a few Natty Lights or shots of Smirnoff vodka (a step up from Burnett’s or even worse, Aristocrat). The goal is ultimately still the same: get wasted, even in 2015.

At some point during a recent hangover, in between praying to God for salvation and throwing up, I began to wonder if the type of alcohol I was consuming had anything to do with the length of my hangover. And that’s when I posed a question to the good Lord directly: “Well, what can we drink differently?”