Masturdebation

Tonight’s presidential debate is brought to you by…

An entire nation getting drunk as fuck.

Cheers, y’all. #GinningUpMyBase

Brevity + alcohol = soulmates of wit.

Current mood: Vodka.

#DrunkSingleton

Vodka made me do it.

One more on this, and then, sweet baby Jesus willing, I think I’m done.

Possibly (erm, make that probably) inebriated conversation with a male friend…

Friend: “Does That Guy know you’re the one writing these posts when he likes them on Tumblr?”

Me: “Yep. I told him about it before I fucked everything up.”

Friend: “Before HE fucked everything up. Don’t get it twisted.”

Me: “Mutual destruction.”

Friend: “That’s weird, though.”

Me: “What, that he knows? Or that he’ll like posts about my body but turned down my many offers to do any naughty little thing he wanted to it?”

Friend: “Both. I mean, he made his choice, right?”

Me: “Eh. It’s fine. He doesn’t read often. If I don’t want him to like the posts, I’ll just keep writing about feelings. He never did like my feelings.”

Cool Girl’s guide to holiday tEXting

It’s probably a good, healthy step this long after a breakup to not wish each other Merry Christmas, not out of anger or spite, but because you’re busy living your lives.

I mean, unless you’re me, and will sit here stewing about it at the end of the day but not saying it first because you sent the last text yesterday, and you have too much pride to say it first because remember you said “Happy Thanksgiving” first?

Ahem. Not that that’s happening… Because that would be lunacy.

My wine and I are going to bed.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, some good mood-altering substances.

I think I’m packed for Christmas, yeah?  

No, wait… You’re right. I need beer.

Also, I totally hear you — Xanax would’ve been great, but alas, there’s some shit about ethics where they won’t give it to me because I don’t actually have anxiety? I KNOW, right, what the shit? This IS America, right? Family gatherings + Jesus’ birthday = special dispensation. That’s in the Bible: “And lo, distributed among them, there were delicious medications, and yea, they were happy. OK, well…not really HAPPY, but they didn’t hit anyone, and so there was peace on earth, and sedated goodwill toward men.”

P.S. I will spend today baking MANY cookies; those are almost Xanax if you eat enough of them.

P.P.S. That whiskey is not for me. That shit is like having one of those hippie honey cough drops in your drink. Ugh.

That time I damned myself to hell before noon.

I asked my mother what I could bring to Christmas dinner, maybe a dessert or wine, and she said, “No worries, we’re all set for food, and we have enough to drink — there’s water and soda and juice.”

Oh. Oh, honey. Is it GIN and juice? Is there grape drank? (That’s what those Sunny D commercials meant by “purple stuff,” let’s be honest.)

See, I can’t get through Christmas with that big fake smile on my face without mixing pills and alcohol, Karen Walker style. Besides, if you read The Bible, you’ll learn Jesus turned water into wine because He WANTED us to be half in the bag on His birthday.

Jesus was a partier. Fact. He didn’t go all in with hats and streamers and all that, because that’s just excess, but He could knock back goblets of His own blood like nobody’s business.

In which Three Olives is my interim therapist

You say “day drinking my feelings” like it’s a BAD thing.  

#FamilyTime

#TherapyIsDandyButLiquorIsQuicker

#CheeseIsAlsoHelping

PSA, PSA, PSA!

Drunk Singleton is drunk.
Carry on. 

Because CULTURE, goddammit!

I’m spending the evening embracing my Irish heritage. 

Or, to the untrained eye, I’m drinking Jameson, avoiding humanity, and writing.

Irish potato, Irish po-tah-to.