drunk emails

I hate diets which prohibit carbs, mainly alcohol.  South beach is prohibiting the "down south" movement.  I’m starting a protest. 

Okay, it’s only really appropriate to post about drunk emails while I’m drunk.  And as luck would have it, dear reader, you’ve landed on red.  Winna.  Granted, I had to lock up Linus for the post.  This is me, at my worst, minus the snot.  Okay, now he’s whining, despite the two Gray’s Papaya hot dogs I just fed him.  Come on Linus, "go in your home."  Thank god I spent the hours I did teaching him that manuever.  Believe me, I did just pat myself on the shoulder.  Well done old girl.  Well done.

The thing about drunk email… you say everything you’re thinking.  I don’t know how akin it is to the drunk dial.  Maybe it’s worse.  Especially the drunk post.  (Permalink below, thank you very much.)  A benefit to the drunk email, if you’re the receiver, that is, FORWARD.  No one forwards voice messages.  We transcribe the voice message into an IM to all our friends.  "What do I say?" comes next.  But still, no one forwards a voicemail; it’s just isn’t done.  It takes too much actual time, vs. virtual time via internet post.  I’ve done it all. 

Everything they tell you never to say… you email it all to the one person you should never email it to… the guy you are actually interested in.  But he should never know this, because then, well, then you’re even less desirable.  Well, I’m sorry.  Fuck that noise.  The truth is, whether you email or call or page, if you’re hot and he/she is feelin’ ya, then they are psyched.  There is no, let me read into this.  It just is.  Right there.  On a cold slab, like beef.  And you know what,  it’s courage. And courage, in my book, is let’s go make out right here, right now, corner or not.  Courage is hot.  Put that shite out there.  Break rules, boundaries.  Playing it cool sucks.  I have no patience.  Persistance and courage are my rules.  That shite is smack down let’s go get a room hot.  Fuck the rest of it.  That’s not real.  That’s wipe your hands and don’t forget the soap.  Pahleeze.  That’s not life.  Life is messy, and sometimes crude, but it makes you feel alive, glorious, and giddy.  And I’m not talking seex; you’ve never met a bigger romantic.  But, you know that by now.  Man, that shite makes you sing in the shower.  Makes you smile through business meetings.  That, my friends, is what it’s all about.  So bring on the drunk emails… you know my address.



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