Blunk Drogging

March 6, 2009 at 4:09 am (in my head)

So I went to this thing with Work Friend and I had a margarita. Yes, yes, yes, A margarita. As in one. As in homegirl has no tolerance. And I can’t believe I just used the term “homegirl”. I wouldn’t even be able to spell right now if it weren’t for spell check. I’m drunk(ish) enough that the song “When Will I be Loved” seems deep, and apt. And SPEAking of being loved, where is the handsome man for me to be making out with right now? Or doing other things with (that are not socially acceptable to mention, because I’m a lady!).

I had dinner. No! I did! Two tacos. Yummy tacos. And why don’t I have tacos more often. They’re really brilliant. Corn tortillas, your choice of meat (or non-meat for the vegetarian folks who smell like patchouli – I’m kidding, only most of you do), and some yummy sauce on top. That’s just friggin’ brilliant. Brilliant man who invented tacos, you are my hero. But wait, where was I? Oh yes, tacos and having them. SO two tacos and then one margarita. Dude. I mean Duuuuude. I need to drink more. Or more often. This is just embarrassing. I’m going to have to ask Dancing Roommate to drive me to book club. Where I’ll drink some more. I’m not an alcoholic (because if I was wouldn’t I be able to have dinner plus more than one margarita and be A-OK?), but I kinda get it. This is a beautiful oblivion. I’m not really caring what you think of me right now (though I will in the morning) and I’m not caring so much about work, or my tendency to fantasize so much that the reality could never live up, or about how completely emotional I get when I see dogs on the street (because when will it be myyyyyyy tuuuuuuuurn!?!). I don’t even care that my eye makeup has totally creased (but why, dear god, do I have eyelids that never keep eye makeup put? I’d rather have that than oily skin and dry eyelids – definitely would rather have that – but it’s just weird). And I can’t even care very much that I’m overusing parentheses. Or blathering.

Oh tequila, how I love thee. Even when you’re cheap and part of the happy hour art walk special. Nice tequila would be better (snooty poo Mexican and your AMAZING tequila selection that I usually get to try for free because of Dangerous Ex’s night job! How I love you snooty poo Mexican place! How I love you amazing tequila selection! How I love Dangerous Ex’s tendency to buy me drinks!) but tequila in general is awesome. It rocks. And I’m not just saying that because I’ve had some. I really mean it. From the bottom of my heart.

I keep thinking of The Southerner. And his eyes. The Universe likes to taunt me with men I can’t have. He lost points for a while for using the term “baby mama” in an IM conversation. Because I didn’t think he was being hipster ironic. But now I think he was. Or I was just drawn back in because he used “terse” in a sentence. And because he felt the need to list his Southern credentials when I seemed surprised that he’d never shot a gun. And because he said that holding the door is just polite, no matter the gender of the person going through.

But enough about him. I miss C. She’s on a ski trip and I’m thrilled for her. But can she come home now? I haven’t talked to her in like two weeks, which is ages in C-and-me time. Not by email or IM or phone. Ccccccccccccc! Come baaaaaaaaaack! And P.S. Move to San Francisco please.

I think I need to go now. Because how many times can you listen to “Stagger Lee” before it just gets ridiculous. Seventeen? Eighteen? Forty-six?


1 Comment

  1. Bridget said,

    In case you weren’t aware, you rock. Now hand over the tequila. 🙂

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