I’ve been drinking (professionally—I just can’t, in good conscience, consider my St. Ides Special Brew days as anything more than training in the minors) since around the start of my freshman year in college. I’ve been text messaging since about a year after that. So, by now, both are second nature to my friends and me. Each can be dangerous on its own, which means combining them is simply inviting tragedy. But, as is usually the case in life, along the road to tragedy you’ll pass an awful lot of comedy.
- From a few nights ago…
Hollywood: “operation foreigner is in effect…im looking for someone exotic looking”
Me: “Lots of asian dudes in Oakland. That’s probably your best bet.”
Hollywood: “holy hoes down nakama”
Me: “I’m guessing they’re not all that holy.”
I can’t say for sure just how his night ended, but I can say this: his MySpace status the following day spoke of a hangover, but nothing of meeting a future-Mrs. Hollywood-with-an-accent.
Granted, I was sober during those exchanges. But I have done plenty of damage from the other side of the fence. The following are messages sent during a weeklong business trip in March ’07.
- Tuesday morning…
Me (to TJ): “Let's recap last night: san-diego-women's-rm woman has a gorgeous les daughter with even hotter gfs; her engagement is failing; and she wants me badly”
Me (to TJ): “Note: the mother is the one with the failing engagement who wants me. I actually told her that her daughter sounds like a porn fantasy...and she agreed.”
Early Tuesday evening…
Me (to TJ): “I'm playing poker against hot chicks from Cali and computer geeks. I own this place.”
Later that night…
Me: “You don't know the party i'm at right now.”
Me: “Picture a high school house party. In a huge house in Texas. Only, instead of teenagers, it's 80+ software engineers. From all around the world.”
TJ: “So geekfest 2007?”
Me: “That's half of it. But there's also cute foreign chicks. Brazilians even.”
TJ: “Here's the part where I hate you.”
Later still, I sent a quote from L-Boogie…
Me (to TJ): “My son will be president of the United States. And yes, he will get head; and he'll admit to it.”
The following morning…
Me (to TJ): “So I got a number from a girl last night who has a bf, and I now have a little asian cutie from san diego on it. And I won a cowboy hat.”
Thursday morning, discussing my plans for celebrating my birthday upon returning home…
Me (to Shannon): “Thanks hon. Nothing concrete. I believe compromising my judgment, vision, and ability to walk in a straight line will be involved, though.”
Friday afternoon, in the cab home from the airport, talking about events of the previous night…
Me (to my project manager at work): “Not the first time, and probably not the last time, that I drink alcohol from a woman's cleavage. Talk to you on Monday.”
Maybe it’s just me, but sometimes the best (although it’s occasionally the most painful) part of my morning-after is scrolling through my text messages to see what I sent. Irritated cursing, paranoid accusations, sloppy come-ons…it all reminds you of the ramblings of a blind man who has been handcuffed to a mechanical bull for five hours.
At his request, last year I kept a record of all of the texts between TJ and me during his birthday weekend (he was in Appleton, WI). The following highlights from that weekend, if nothing else, serve to show why “On the Rocks” was an inevitable necessity.
- Early Friday night…
TJ: Is it too early for patron? No, no its not.
Me: Don't forget to get some pictures of titties. Makes every birthday that much more special.
TJ: I dont do pictures, son. Lawyers advice. Reduces the chances of conviction.
Me: No man's ever been convicted of getting birthday boob.
TJ: I just did a shot called chocolate cake. Wtf is going on.
Me: You're becoming a woman, that's what. I had that shot once, but the chick had to promise head first.
TJ: Well, it was free. And i just killed six stuffed potato skins. Oh, its gonna be bad night.
Me: You're going for "sloppy bitch" drunk, aren't you?
TJ: Man... I already lost feeling in my extremities.
TJ: If i bone dea [Sage], its like both our presents.
Me: lol@her waking up with the star of david on her ass tomorrow. Tell her she owes ME a damn gift. She's two weeks late on it already.
TJ: At the club. Safe. On familiar ground.
Me: TELL HER THAT S**T!
TJ: WHEN I SEE HER I WILL N***A BREATHE
Me: Good boy. Now do a shot of beam.
TJ: I hate you.
Me: That's your thirst talking.
TJ: Jody lookin yum.
Me: A picture's worth a thousand drunk texts.
TJ: I got no flash on the celly. ill see what i can do. Why do you sound sober?
Me: Smoking Aces on dvd tues. I WILL be copping.
TJ: DRINK U P***Y
TJ: Ok, im signing off. I got four shots sitting between eight titties. If i die, keep keepin on, man.
Me: Stand and fight, man. Stop talking like a dead man.
TJ: HOLY F**K
Me: Welcome to the land of the dead.
TJ: Tijies and tequika niga
Me: Strength and honor.
TJ: N***A IM RTILL ALIVE
Me: The measure is the a.m. hours.
TJ: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY F****D UP ASS N***A
TJ: Fifth hour of drinking. I'm a dead man.
Me: *steps out onto the battlefield* let's do this
TJ: If i die tonight, u can be a pallbearer.
Me: Your lightweight ass would only need two of them.
TJ: Lightweight my ass. I been on the battlefield for six hours now. Also, i want yall to cripwalk with my casket.
TJ: 4 f*****g dancers? For MY bday? F**K THAT
Me: You're drunk and seeing double. There's only 2.
TJ: Way to tell im drunk. Im jammin to rob zombie.
Me: Way to tell i'm with white girls: we're listening to bow wow.
TJ: Eeny meeny miney mo, usin game to catch a ho.
Me: Chubbly chick loving me.
TJ: Roflz, U bangin a chubbly would be the best bday gift.
Me: "that's what friends are forrr"
TJ: Ok. Theres a world class psycho stripper here. Shes also a 9.5. And my bac has to be 0.25 at this point.
TJ: Hmmm ... Puking rally?
Me: That's my dog.
TJ: TITTY OVERLOAD
TJ: SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS MAKE THEM STOP
TJ: Restaurant owner kust gavd ne free certificates.
Me: You're not a man until you hit double digits.
TJ: Doble di4ts on hos or drinks? Cvz I done already killed a bottle of cap.
The final two messages of the night, sent at well-past 4 a.m.…
TJ: Pun2tuatin for the evening. In the emergency room with a broke hand and fat lip. F***k.
TJ: F*****g doctors.