Dear Drunk Texting,

Dear Drunk Texting,

Dear Drunk Texting,

Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Let’s talk, shall we? Specifically regarding anytime I’m single, drunk, and have my phone in reach.

Last Night I was channeling my inner Pocahontas, drunk enough to feel the colors of the wind and seriously believing I could talk to animals. It also apparently wasn’t a big deal to be running around shoeless and for some reason tribal tattoos started to look good. Obviously I was in no position to be operating any sort of machinery, but what did I do once I reached that level of drunkenness? C’mon, you know. I reached into my pocket and started tap, tap, tapping away.

You turned my smart phone against me. We had such a healthy (obsessive) relationship and now I’m afraid to even look at the thing in the morning. I can honestly say with my hand over my heart that I hate you Drunk Texting, with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Yes, sometimes you’re funny, cute and occasionally hook me up, but enough is enough, amirite? I mean, I leave Thursday night with prospects of someone I could hook up with *gasp* in daylight and where do I find myself every Sunday morning? Eating a bagel, because if you’re reading your texts from last night, we all know the importance of a bagel. They are the only things delicious (see full of carbs) enough  to be served with a side of confusion and washed down with of gulp regrets.

You’re the reason I know that mistake is also spelled “whereeee areeeeeyyo uuuu?” I now have wrinkles on my face from concentrating so hard, trying not to sound drunk when texting. Do you grasp the fact that my friends have to wrestle my phone away from me nowadays?

Memories, oh Memories. Remember that one time I texted the guy I had a crush on “So, nice weather we’re having” because I somehow thought he would translate that as “So, we should take off all of our clothes. Now. Where are you?” How about the time you let me text my boss “hii a23adfiuvnhxdfbwdg youuuuuuu <3”. Even Rosetta stone couldn’t figure that shit out.   Oh, oh! What about the time you convinced my roommate to booty text my dad? Ah, friendship redefined.

I just want to ask you this; Why do you haunt me? I mean, yes, I do want to thank you for giving boys the cojones to send fearless text messages based entirely off my peak physical appearance (read convenience).  But it’s my drunken replies that get us in trouble. I don’t care how funny it seems at the time, sending “hahahahahahahahahahahahaha seriously?” is not an answer to a harmless “what are you up to tonight?”.  And my 4’11 male friend is still not over the time we asked how much he got paid in the Wizard of Oz, or if I could ride his flying monkey.

Thanks for helping me earn the nickname the Wicked Witch,
#CTL

P.S. Tell your cousin (Drunk Dialing), your brother (Drunk Facebooking), and your stepsister (Drunk Tweeting) to GTFO. I’m really not into family affairs.

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