Drunk Dialing
Now, I have been known to have some pretty decent conversations while intoxicated or messed up, but I have never really drunk dialed at all.
That is, except for last night. I am one of those squishy drunks that tends to get a little overly sentimental while sloshy. I have never ever been mean, and honestly, I tend to say shit and do shit quite to the opposite.
Never have I blacked out and not realized something that I said or did, but events from last night are a bit hazy.
I do know that I bartended a party for Amanda Baird or however you spell her name, as a celebration of her FHM magazine cover. I do know that I did partake in a few tricky beverages with Redbull sugar free. I do remember drunk dialing an old friend of mine, and leaving a message about not knowing why she thought I didn’t want to talk to her, and even mentioned re-adding her on my journal (yes, things did get that retarded). I don’t remember what else I said, but it doesn’t really matter. When I got home, how I did this I don’t even know, I jumped into bed. Before this I made some kind of phone call upstairs (I don’t remember that either), and down came my boy.
I asked him this morning as I rustled myself out of bed if I shit talked at all last night. He told me I told him I loved him. Ut oh.
His response was, “well now I know to get secrets out of you, I just have to feed you some vodka”. Good sport but good god, what is wrong with me?
My dreams last night involved apartment switching between Boston and NYC, and my cousin was somehow involved. No murder, but I don’t remember a good part of it anyways.
I got asked to be in a film tomorrow as a pretty girl extra. The thing that kind of creeps me out is that it’s September 11th tomorrow, and I have to be there at 9 am.
I am considering not going. I don’t have those bullshit reasons like “you’ll let the terrorists win” if you don’t live your life. It is the anniversary after all, and we all know what our friends think of anniversaries. I was here, living here on 9/11. What happened was not even a full mile away. We are separated by a river from that shit.
And it was not fucking pretty. none of it was pretty.
I will post excerpts from my journal that day tomorrow morning.
Francis,
I am thinking of you today. We share that added burden of having both been *this* close to the buildings when they fell. I remember watching them from the porch of Dana’s apartment…
Love You, Francis.