I was looking for a different Garfunkel & Oates video for a later post, but I saw this in the YouTube sidebar so I’m sharing it first.
I’ve posted this before, but it’s been a while, and it’s always worth hearing again. But also, I HAVE in fact gotten that drunk text at 3 in the morning, and it was indeed “SO close, but not quite there.”
Drunk Singleton is drunk.
Carry on.
I don’t plan on embracing this is a lifestyle or anything, but man, when you’re drunk? Everything does seem a little easier.
In related news, Southern Tier Pumking tastes like autumn came in my mouth.
Last night I ended up sleeping in the same room (different couch) as another single friend of friends — a man who, we established during group conversation, likes to just get laid and be on his merry way.
We’ll just pretend the reason I didn’t even try to take advantage of this fantastic opportunity for commitment-free mutual tension release is that I wasn’t prepared to fuck anyone (alcohol-sleepy and still menstruating) and NOT that he would never get with me because he only bangs super-hot, skinny blondes.
Yes. I like that version better.
Your loss, Bro-seph. I’d rock your world, even half-drunk and near the end of Lady Times.
Have developed two social media crushes in one evening.
You people have been holding out on me with your hot friends, what the hell? Is it because I’m insane? Whatever, man, send me That Guy — we’ll be bored of each other in a month, so he won’t have to deal with anything except my overwhelming need to lick his tattoos.
(Ahem. I may be drunk blogging.)
Email to Lady Friends…
Subj: “Tonight I had wine and saw infomercials”
“Thank the gods of finance that I’m already in bed and am too tired to go fetch my credit card. (I saw photos from this past weekend and my face has more lines than a singles bar on ladies’ night.)
“BUT LOOK AT ALL THE SCIENCE WORDS!!!!!”
Something I’m glad I seem to have mastered for the MOST part: “You are tipsy. If you still think it’s a great idea to send that email tomorrow morning, you can do it then.”
About 90% of the time, it was NOT a great idea, and I saved myself some grief. Probably most of the remaining 10%, I sent it anyway and had to deal with aftermath in the morning.
Drunk enough to revisit Match.com.
Sober enough to remember how many of my potential suitors there wanted to put things in or around my ass. Quickly deleted account again.
“Looking for the one” is apparently Match code for “looking for the one who’s into buttsex.”
Smug Singleton 