Drunk Texture

This past weekend the Hubbs and I went out with a few other couples for a mini couple’s retreat of sorts. No kids, no worries, and plenty of spirits to keep the mood light. We have some seriously great friends. Whenever we all get together there is bound to be shenanigans and charades of all sorts. πŸ™‚

So Saturday night started with dinner at our local sports bar and lots of chit chat. Before I knew it, I had consumed FOUR large cocktails. I was a hot mess. Usually, when I go out with the girls I may get a little tipsy, but I never get belligerent. {I don’t even like talking about this because it just makes me sound like a crazy loser, but you need to know this about me.} Whenever I go out and the Hubbs is there, I always drink too much. He doesn’t drink, so I know I will be in safe hands all night and he’ll be making sure I don’t do anything too stupid. Although, once he did let me get up on a raised dance floor at a bar and stand in front of the large fans and dance like a 1987 Whitesnake video queen. No, there aren’t pictures. Yes, I kind of wish there was. Anyway, that aside… he doesn’t let me do anything too stupid.

I kept my composure for the most part this weekend. I didn’t do any dancing in front of fans or on tables or anywhere for that matter. I mostly just laid with my head on a napkin dispenser mumbling incoherently and then wandered around aimlessly wanting to go to “shake my ass.” Another little tid-bit… I tend to think I’m a really good dancer when I’ve had a few too many. I amNOT. There is no where with any decent dance music in this town that isn’t accompanied by scary people with gangster complexes and guns. We live in a 30,000 person town. ‘Nuf Said.

Then… we got home. I slinked into the bathroom to hide while Hubbs gathered up the sitter and took her home. I must have gotten bored, because Sunday morning I found quite the entertaining collection of text messages to my sister. {She’s actually my sister-in-law, by marriage, but she’s just my sister. Because I say.} Please let the record show, this sister is the only person (except the Hubbs- which I will not talk about here) I ever text while drunk. Ever. {Thank the Jesus.}

I won’t bore you with all the detailed craziness, but here are a few of the choice ones. {Notes in these nifty little brackets will be my sober comments on what the hell I think of myself now.} Oh, and I’ll correct the spelling because clearly I was texting with gloves on. Or with a pirate hook.

“Good morning my little puddin pop. I loooove you… You’re my favorite drunk texture.” {Don’t you love how sappy some people get when intoxicated?}

“Yes we home. Jimmie take babysitter home. Keli sit on toilet… in case puke comes. puke. bad.”

{A few incoherent texts later and this little gem…}

“Do you think Mr. Bojangles was real?” {WTF??? Where did this come from? I don’t even think about Mr. Bojangles on an occasional basis! I am scared of myself right now.}

“Tomorrow will be bad. Bad. bad. bar… okay, me sleepy now. sleep now. lovey loves.”

“Mommy needs water. Bring Mommy water.”…”Oops, that was for Jimmie.”

“Snap into a Slim Jim. hahahahaha.”

I have no words here people. None. I consider myself to be a generally classy person for the most part. I’m not stuffy by any means and have been known to be a good-time girl (both in the whoreish way and not. But mostly not. And not whoreish in YEARS.) But I don’t even know who that person was. I will now, and forever, swear off the following drinks:

Red Bull and Vodka!
Grape Vodka with Cranberry Juice.
Black Opals!!!
Sex on the Beach.

If you should see me with one of these beverages, you should just remind me of this humiliating post, which I am putting on display for all the world to see so you can remind me never to pull this Lindsay Lohan bullshit again.

Also, this is my audition letter for Celebrity Rehab. {Which I have already been denied for since I am not, in any way, a celebrity- except in my own mind.}

 

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6 thoughts on “Drunk Texture

  1. You need to stick to a drink and love it. My entourage (yes i occasionally have one) knows what to fucking order while i piss away the previous $20 in single malts that i have consumed. Plus i look like James fucking Bond (or how he should have looked if he didnt order those sissy martinis) wth my manly beverage. By my bondian decree, thou shalt from now on order… SPICY BLOODY MARYS. They get you drunk and your breath tastes like pepperoni. Golden conbo. Now go forth, and build you up a hangover immunity to such a drink as i have!!

    • I can’t stick to one drink. I do stick to one liquor which is vodka. I have to mix it up a little. I don’t drink it straight unless it’s Goose but even then… I’d way rather have a little fun with it. So I need the mixers. My faves are vodka tonic with lemon, lemon drops, grape vodka and cran (which is my usual bar drink- because it’s really hard to mess up) and long islands (more than vodka but gets the job done quick.)

      My new fave is the black opal. OMG it’s amazing! It’s vodka, gin, rum, chamborde and cranberry juice. (and maybe a little fizzy something?) It was going to be my new “go to” until I learned it’s so full of booze bars are supposed to only serve you two. Which I may have learned the hard way. I need them to find a way to make it equally yummy without all the headache – and dancing on things.

      I will not drink spicy bloody mary’s. sorry. not gonna do it! not ever. Can you try again?

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