An Open Letter to Drunk Me

By on January 15, 2013
drunk me

Hey there, slugger.

How about you put down that vodka tonic (props on the low cal choice by the way, you make me proud sometimes) and let’s think about what we’re doing with our lives for a second. Shall we?

So you’re on your, what, 8th drink now? Oh, great and you’re drinking doubles? Wonderful. Just wonderful. Put your debit card back in your clutch, please.

Listen, you know I love you. You’ve provided me with some of the greatest stories I have and I appreciate that, I really do, but let’s not pretend that  you haven’t given me a few problems to deal with as well. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you just forget that I’m the one who has to clean up your messes, both literal and figurative. So I’m just going to give you a few things to consider before you make any more decisions and I have to send anymore “Sorry about last night :/” text messages. Okay, hun?

Let’s start with that guy that’s buying you drinks. Oh, I’m sorry, what was that? You think you’re in love with him? Okay, okay, fair enough. But wait, what’s his name again? Oh, you don’t know, there’s a surprise. Well, I’m going to need you to do me a favor and tell him you “really need to find your friends,” and hobble yourself off of that bar stool and don’t turn back, because I’ve officially decided to suspend your “falling in love at bars” privileges. I know, I know he could have been your soul mate. Cry me a fucking river, or maybe just a puddle because you’ll probably be over it by your next drink.

Now that you’ve dodged that land mine I would appreciate it if you would avoid making friends with the crying girl in the bathroom. Trust me, she will trap you in there and force you to listen to her sob story about how the guy she’s talking was like totes flirting with another girl right in front of her, OH EM GEE. If you do not know her, just go pee, wash your hands, fix your hair, and get out of there. I am not being an asshole, crying girls just kill our buzz, alright? Treat it like a competition reality show, “We’re not here to make friends.”

Oh, by the way, YES YOU ARE TALKING TOO LOUD. I know you thought you were whispering, but unfortunately, you were not and now everyone within a 7 foot radius of you heard you tell your friend that you forgot to put underwear on tonight. Cool.

Now, once you’ve danced, drank, had a good time, and successfully navigated your way out of the bar without making friends with Sobbing Susie or going home with Shrek you’re almost in the clear, but there is one final temptation: Drunk food. Please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top of Ryan Gosling do not order food or make an entire box of pasta. Spring break is coming up fast on us and that means that neither my body nor my bank account can really afford this luxury right now.

Just chug some Gatorade and pray that the hangover gods spare you, or rather me, tomorrow.

XOXO,

Sober you.

 

 

 

About DC

I'm 99.9% sure that I'm Pocahontas reincarnated. Try not to fall in love with me, you guys. But feel free to stalk me @Darcell4
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