Jun 9, 2013

A Letter to the Editor...kinda

Since I woke up with a layer of my tongue missing from last night's vodka shots AND I got trapped in an underground parking garage alone for 40 minutes this morning, I've been feeling like darting into oncoming traffic inspired to write a letter to myself which includes reasons why booze is my arch nemesis, and share it with the world. You're welcome.

The plan (in my semi-sober current state) is that I'm hoping I remember to resort to this list, the next time that I think that bathing in champagne, peeing in my living room, and eating pizza off the floor at 3am IS THE BEST IDEA EVER. WHY AM I SINGLE?

Actually, since I'm on an honesty kick, it was my behaviour at my birthday party last weekend that inspired this masterpiece/week long shame spiral. I woke up last Sunday to my girlfriend playing a video of me from my party on her phone. THIS MADE MY NUMBER 4 SPOT OF MOST TRAUMATIZING LIFE EXPERIENCES. (Well that, and trying on skinny jeans.)
Why was the video so traumatizing Nanners?
Well, if you're anything like me, you loathe hearing your voice on voicemail, on a microphone or in a video.

First of all, why does my voice sound like Sara in this gem of a video below:

Secondly, during the video, I'm giving a seemingly lovely speech to my friends and thanking them for coming to my party... then all of a sudden I turn to my friend in front of everyone and tell her I'm going to "punch you in the vagina."  Nice. (Actually the word was a lot worse than that, but I still enjoy going to church on Christmas Eve and I could potentially burst into flames if I use it.)

I can only imagine Kim Kardashian felt the same way when she found out her cooter was gracing the screens of millions of people world wide. HORRIFIED. Only difference is, her cooter made her millions and my pirate hooker mouth still has my bank account in overdraft. I can't catch a break.

After I came to terms, that in real life, my voice sounds like a 13 year old girl on ecstasy, I continued to lay in bed and question the meaning of life (and silently wonder if I actually ate cigarettes last night), my friend Mel searched her phone, only to uncover more evidence of idiocy and debauchery....PHOTOS. I would post these, but I'm shirtless. Just kidding Mom. I may not be shirtless, but I can tell you there are a bunch of unknown Mexicans and guacamole in these pics. Problem with this is, both Mel and I assumed we came straight home from the bar....and I don't eat Mexican food, nor do I know where any such place is in the city...Sooooo... here's a professional shot of the counter we were apparently standing at, and if you're from the city and recognize these vats of salsa and guacamole, holla at me because I would love to know...and I seem to have left my self respect there.

Ugh I hate guacamole. (I bet you're sitting at your desk right now thinking "What? I love guacamole, what's wrong with this girl.") 

Whoa. I got way off topic with my useless backstory. Anyway, as mentioned earlier, I thought by writing a letter to myself, it will help in some self preservation/dignity restoration in the future. (Sorry, I'm trying to write and and I'm trying to watch Breaking Amish, I'm really thankful I don't wear a bonnet.)

Nanners gurl, 

You ain't P-Diddy, put down the Hennessy. Shit gurl.

1. Your bones are made of glass, sit down. 
2. You think that developing an emotional connection with your cab driver and buying Big Mac's for him and his entire family at 2am is doing your part for world peace. 
3. You text "dsfasihg fdasiag a dkksoa cake" and expect a reasonable response in the middle of the night.
4. You tell complete strangers on the street that you love them, especially if they offer to buy you a hot dog. 
5. You ask the hot dog vendor if you can help him grill the hot dogs for his customers, only to be followed by a very loud "get the fuck away from me." 
6. You come home and melt cheese on everything in your fridge, while you long for a hot dog.
7. You wake up with cheese in your hair 
8. You pee everywhere but the toilet.
9. You provide free therapy to hookers in the bathroom bar 
10. Sometimes you don't come home alone and you think you have 10 different STD's for at least 2 weeks.

Nanners, I know you love pizza and have a really messed up obsession with hot dogs, but I urge you to think of all the hot dog vendors on the streets of Toronto that don't want to see you ever again since you got all up in their grills at 2am...literally. 

I love you, go brush your teeth. 


Well that's it for me bitches. My brain hurts. Also, if you watch The Bachelorette, join me for my weekly recaps on Red Lips, Long Lashes. I don't hold back.  www.redlipslonglashes.com/entertainment/the-bachelorette-this-is-nothing-like-christian-mingle