I spent the vast majority of yesterday at a dive bar in my old hood down by 8 mile, and despite the bathrooms being rather gross and the overall dive bar-iness of the place being evident, I had a lot of fun with my college biffle Alyza, manfriend, and a bunch of boys in tights who at one point, got out of the ring to fight right in front of us and threw several drinks around, and we all got splashed with Jack Daniels. Classy.
I was on a steady tipsy train for about 6 or 7 hours. And then manfriend brought over a shot of Jameson – and that’s when I entered drunk town. Always, I swear to god. I get all numb in the lips and the finger tips and I start slurring my words. The whiskey is what sends me into swaying-when-I-walk and being-okay-with-strangers-commenting-on-and-trying-to-touch-my-boobs mode. Alcohol, I’m telling you.
I don’t even know how many drinks I had last night. But I know it was a lot. And I’m once again surprised I don’t have a legit hangover today. I’m once again dizzy when I bend over a little too far, however, and I’m still burping up Curacao and Tanqueray, among other alcohols.
I feel like I should’ve been doing this all my years of college. What did I do with my life? Be studious. That’s the answer.
That and NOT SEND PEOPLE DRUNK FACEBOOK MESSAGES THAT IN RETROSPECT ARE SLIGHTLY EMBARRASSING. But it’s okay because at least drunk me sends really nice drunk messages full of love and adoration. So to all of you who get drunk messages from me professing my love to you, I hope you feel honored that drunk me considers you that important.