Last night, from 2-3am, I received 3 drunk dials. Now, sure. I'm certainly guilty of a drunk dial or two in my day. Typically, my drunk dials are professions of undying love or unbridled hate. But, it's been some time since I stumbled for the phone (months, sadly, not years) and quite frankly, I'd forgotten all about the drunk dial. There was a time in my life, and that time was about a year ago, when drunk dials were an every night occurrence. I expected my phone to ring by 3am nightly, and came to rather enjoy the security of knowing that my idiot friends, while tragically addicted to hooch, thought of me at their most belligerent. It seems this time has come again.
But 3? 3 different jackasses all thought to bother me in the middle of the night, screaming obscenities and talking nonsense...
Call #1: "Spots, get your high falutin' ass out here. Seriously. Don't be a bitch. Put on something sassy and get to my house ASAP."
Call #2: "I just don't understand... (unintelligible)... and men fucking suck, Beth. I mean, he fucking lied to me. He LIED!"
Call #3: "Oh my god. The hottest guy just walked by me. Hold on... 'Hey. What's up?'...(back to me) Asshole. Anyway, you will not fucking believe my night, but let me just announce, I lost my shoes. And everyone decided your celebrity equivalent was that girl on that show, you know. Who wears the unfortunate knee highs you would never wear. You know who I'm talking about? Anyway..."
So, now it's on. One would think I'd be disgusted, horrified, even offended. But no. I've grown nostalgic and I intend to drunk dial all kinds of people this weekend. Take me out, get me hammered, and hand me a phone. I've got some shit to say, people.