Reader tip! Don’t wrap an evening of drinking by spiking your champagne with Limoncello.
Buuuuuut, as long as 32-percent alcohol is coursing through your veins, you may as well send a few dozen text messages. You can send them all to different people by simply thinking of a new person you’d like to talk to. Don’t be all anal about whether you’ve actually entered their phone number or just the one you last dialed. Hit on the following key points:
Everything south of my waist is wet, and not in a hot way.
o never has anyone been drunk enough
Sara could fix my car, love. We are so very drunk.
Um. My terrariums are doing smashingly. Sara must plug in.
You must only be living jusy so, with the so trashed so well. It took me three hours or so. Cheers, rae.
Just so. Sara Brown is wasted. She won’t have anything theft, monsieur. How’s france treatin’ ya?
Around 2 a.m., compose incoherent messages on the postcards you’ve been acquiring since college. For example:
Dallas has the worst airport in the continental U.S. and you’re always on that thing with the guys who golf.
I’m going to lay down.
My nose, even my nose hurts.
-It’s 2:32 a.m. I mean seriously, go to the bathroom.
-OK, I’m going to.
Every once in awhile I am so afraid of ghosts, I can’t sleep. Which is bullshit, because ghosts don’t have muscles.
When you wake up unsure of whether you may still be drunk, call a cab instead of driving to breakfast. Of course, the taxi driver will be drunk, but he will still take you to the place where they melt the cheese over the potatoes and give you plate after plate of andouille sausage.
Thanks, wasted cab driver. We needed that.