Posts Tagged ‘the’
Drunken Hot Mess…
Public Service Announcement: Drunken hot mess stops being cute after age 25. Translation, after 25 it is no longer acceptable to hurl in public or show off your latest VS collection boy shorts via peep show. After age 25 you’re supposed to keep your composure and hug the porcelain Jesus in the privacy of your own home (like the ever-so-sophisticated 30 plus crowd does). However, as with everything else in life, there are outliers. Sometimes the wrong mix of cheap vodka and cream cheese French toast create the perfect storm during a Halloween party and you find yourself huddled in the bathtub of some strangers’ mansion slurring strange references to turkey patty melts from Mel’s Diner (but I digress).
In music videos everyone pops bottles all night long, dancing to hooks that often rhyme with Grey Goose, Patron, and Moet. Therefore, it’s entirely understandable for women (and their male counterparts) to completely lose their ish when they happen to be holding a shot and that one song comes on talking about “blame on it the alcohol.” Not that a song should ever be the catalyst for inebriated tomfoolery, but I do see the logic (and lack thereof). Having said that, below are some guidelines to help gauge when you may be approaching your potential for public embarrassment.
1. The bouncer starts looking cute: Yes he’s tall, buff and in a suit, however, chances are he’s worn that same suit every night to work for the last 7-10 days. He’s sweated in it, spilled after-hours club food on it, and ironed out the wrinkles from last night’s bus ride home. To be on the safe side, disregard anyone wearing all black until you get home.
2. The Guy whose advances you ignored for the last 2 hours starts looking cute: Yes, compliments are wonderful. BUT, when the guy who almost got slapped for landing a cheap feel on your lady lumps starts becoming charming to you, it’s clearly time for an intervention. His breath didn’t get any cleaner, he’s holding the same cup of 7up over ice that he had when you got there and he’s still wearing the fake Fila/Prada sneaks. IT’S TIME TO GO!
3. All of your sentences begin and end in slobber: Even though it is quite an impressive feat to sing the entire Destiny’s Child catalog entirely in spit while doing the Dougie backwards at 3am on a Sunday, some talents are better left unseen. Let the world peel back that layer upon request (please).
Remember! Friends don’t let friends drive drunk, drunk dial, or dance drunk in stilettos. Lastly, if your friend does not want to end the party (and we all have a friend that never wants to end the party), as a last resort, take them to a karaoke bar, where every drunk has their day and promptly passes out after a long-winded Celine Dion bender.
THE NUMBERS RULE; It Doesn’t Count If…
One night over coffee and dessert two girlfriends, Maya and Alene, both age 25, got together to gossip about Maya’s new roommate, Karin. Maya’s new roommate was 28 years old and had slept with approximately 30 different men (give or take a couple). Both ladies were intrigued with Maya’s roomie and her ability to articulate this number with an air of accomplishment, so sophisticated and mature. But, both ladies, judgments firmly in place, still felt that Karin’s numbers were too high for comfort. Too high, that is, until they got on the topic of their own number of shelved sexual partners.
Alene whipped out a notepad and began to draw a line for every sexual partner that she could recall. Every time she hit five she started a new cluster…all of sudden she was on cluster number 4. “Maya, I couldn’t have slept with 19 guys already, I’m a whore,” Alene said with quantitative conviction.
Maya hastily interjected, “Alene, I’m on number 17 so I’m not far behind you and I’m NOT a whore. F*%$K, I honestly don’t even remember some of their names. How did this happen?”
Maya began to sort through her personal catalog in a comical Sherlock Holmes fashion. “Well, what about that guy who was only 4 inches (hard), he doesn’t count right?” “Don’t be stupid Maya,” said Alene, “but that guy I slept with in Miami last summer only lasted like 2 minutes and then he fell asleep so that guy REALLY doesn’t count.” “Wait a minute Alene, he counts!!! You remembered all the dirty details,” Maya retorted feistily. “2 minutes of details does not equal dirty details,” said Alene.
This was getting ugly and time consuming. Faced with the prospect of having to weed though future prospects in the same manner, the girls decided to create some universal rules to live by, thus, enabling them to erase certain guys from their inventory (like an etch a sketch). The rules are:
1. If the sexual encounter is under 3 minutes, it doesn’t count
2. If the fun stick is under 4 inches (hard), it doesn’t count
3. If you can’t remember his name, it doesn’t count
4. If his name is Chris Hall, it doesn’t count
5. If you were too drunk to remember, it doesn’t count
6. If It’s over 5 years ago, it doesn’t count (unless you want it to)
Now, a blog wouldn’t be a blog without the author’s two cents. So ladies, I’ll leave you with this to chew on. If you want to keep your numbers low, think of your lady goods as a shiny new car. Every time you lease it out, typical wear and tear is to be expected. Don’t let these boys run your miles up unless they intend to purchase. If a guy isn’t stepping up to the plate, put your car back on the lot and only let serious buyers take a test drive. And, in case you didn’t know, serious buyers usually put down a card, Ya heard!!! (j/k, not really).