I'm A Little Out of Practice

I got drunk last night.

So very, very drunk.

If you follow me on Twitter, then 1. Yay! and 2. I'm sorry.

But the good news is that I'm not hungover! Which is a miracle in and of itself because I remember what I drank and it's just unpretty.

I knew that I was gonna get crazy but I had planned to save that for this evening. Instead, around 5:30 last night, with my long pants soaked up to my knees and snow flakes landing on my lapels, I decided that I would use the emergency money in my car to buy a fifth of tequila. I ran this crazy idea by Sam and Bailey's moms (Klea's playgroup) and Bailey's mom was all "That's a great idea! I'll drink it with you and then we can go to the bar!". Her words were like honey to my ears. She was even willing to drive.

Hello, Lover.

We washed down our curly fries with Senor Jose and then jumped in her vehicle and drove to our local pub. I warned my Tweeps (Twitter peeps) that it was about to go down and most of them were on board for the ride. What I hadn't considered was that I would start texting (then sexting *gasp!*) my "friend".

He and I have been together since 2005. It's an on-and-off friends with benefits relationship. Nobody knows we're friends and we like it that way. When we first started our relationship, I panicked to the brink of my sanity and told him that I needed rules. Just three.

1. He can not ever tell me if he were sleeping with someone else at the same time. (That's just nasty and I would freak the eff out.)
2. He can not get me pregnant.
3. We can both call, and if desired, deny the request.

He looked at me, grinned, and said he had three rules of his own.

1. I can never ask where he is or who he's with.
2. I can never trick him into getting me pregnant.
3. When I stop calling, I'm never to explain why.

I figured that was fair enough and an agreement was made. To be honest, I forget he's even there in the wings unless I'm drunk and boyfriendless. Which is where I found myself last night. The first text (around 8:00) said, "You know how I get when I'm drunk? Well, I'm drunk... and single!". To which he responded, "Oh, yeah? :)". I didn't even know he'd been sending me text messages all night. I was too busy being asked if I was "still a snug fit".

When I finally woke up it was only because he called me at 11:20. Who does that?

When I answered the phone at 11:20 the conversation went like this:
Me: Hello? (What he heard: hhhhhawwooo?)
Friend: It's me.
Me: Hmmm...
Friend: Am I coming over?
Me: No. I'm asleep!  (nonafeanvnaep vaijioapvehaui ahueapfne)
Friend: I can't understand you.
Me: Why would you call me this late? So rude! (famioemaoapvnaeun afhuean ehau pajfiejpahae)
Friend: Are you trying to see me or not?
Me: No. (No.)
*phone disconnects*

The next thing I knew it was four o' clock and I felt like someone had stuck me with an adrenaline needle. That's when I saw his final message from last night, sent around 11:30p.

"You are the only woman I know that can drunk text me at 8 and be passed out by 11".

I think he's starting to fall in love with me.

(photo Tequila Buzz. The review is absolutely hateful. True. But hateful nonetheless.)