If nothing else, when drunk, I excel at making friends. Like last night, I pride myself on my super mutant ability to talk to ANYONE after a few drinks. I’m pretty sure, at the same time, I inadvertently piss off those chums I already have (apologies to Black Mamba for the sugar-in-purse hilarity) but there is typically an ebb that equals the flow. And, oh, I made friends last night. I was a drunken, mingling powerhouse.
The first was early on, but let’s face it: Early On was three hours into drinking. (Before the carbombs, but after a whole shitpot full of beer.) Yesterday morning, I text-messaged a little St. Pat’s greeting to my sis in law. We share an inside joke, God knows how it started, where we sing the Irish jig tune to each other. It’s a salutation of sorts. A call to silliness. So my text message to her would really have made sense only to her: “D’deedle-ee deedle-ee deedle-ee dee dee dee…” Unfortunately, dumbass me never changed her cell phone number in my phone’s directory, so this cryptic nonsense was sent not to KT, but instead to the person who now owns her old phone. When the current owner (Sally? Sadie? Susie? Barbara?) called me back, we must have talked for a good ten minutes before I figured out she wasn’t someone in Delaware, sitting next to my sister in law.
Katie, your phone successor is quite nice, but since she didn’t give me any shamrock stickers or hours of Barry Manilow jokes, she wasn’t the best friend I made last night. And I'll be happy to pass that award out, just as soon as I remember all of the nominees.
1 year ago