The perils of drunk friends: "Hey Sex Maniac"
One of the perils of drunk friends is that they will get drunk and think it's funny to jeopardize what could be a foundling relationship. For instance, by forbidding YOU from drunk-dialing the object of your affection, who is out of town for the weekend, but then instead thinking that it is somehow more appropriate to text-message them something like "Hey sex maniac RTEQTERDFAS TV." For instance. And then, as you're looking over their shoulder ('cause you don't even know how to text message, not really being a text-message, but more of a drunk-dialing, kind of gal), when I just thought my friend (we'll call him Devil) was messaging Hey sex. . .I thought maybe "Hey sexy" which in my slightly intoxicated state, seemed ok and cute and affectionate, I did not think it would turn into "hey sex maniac." I mean, what the hell does that say to Object of my Affection? It either says. . .well, she's obviously thinking about the next time she can molest me. . .or, wow, her friends are really drunk and they clearly know all about every incident that's ever taken place between us (and all my blog readers, too, sweetie). The REAREWQERWQE part was Devil getting lazy and frustrated with my cell phone's obscure messaging functions, me demanding that he erase everything, and then instead of fixing it to at least be a coherent message, then just hitting send. What the hell did you do that for?! Jackhole. So, today when I wake up and realize that a not-so-cute message was in fact sent to Object of Affection, when I am trying to play it cool, and it wasn't even me doing it. . .I was mortified. Not as mortified as I have been with Object (read the black out post), but mortified nonetheless. (Devil incidentally, asked me this morning if I had called Object at any point later in the evening, him having called it a night early. "No," I said. "Good girl." "Um, yeah, but you text-messaged him something dumb from my phone, remember that part?" "Yeah, but that's sweet, it shows you're thinking about him." Um no.)
Anyway, so Object calls me today (from Talladega. . .yes, he's at a Nascar function. . .and you know what, it really DOES sound cool when they come around the track). After talking to me for a minute, he goes, "Well, I got a message from you last night, but I don't really understand it all." "What?" I play dumb. "A voice message?" "No, a text message." "What? I don't know how to leave text messages." (Which is true.) He laughed and said, "You don't remember?" and I said, "Um, did you get a message from me?" Then, something happened on the other end, and he said, "Hey I'll call you when I get back." Dammit. He DOES know how to retrieve them. So, the story is. . .my dumb drunk ex-friend (from Object's perspective, I'm going to say it's my female friend Reporter, so at least he thinks I'm not flaunting every detail of every moment we make out with Devil, a guy, but instead, with my girlfriend, Reporter, which somehow seems better) decided it would be cute to text-message him, and before I could stop her and wrestle the phone from her hands, she had sent him a much incoherent message that started out "hey sex maniac." The gibberish was me wrestling the phone out of her hands. I already set the story up by telling him how drunk she was last night and that I was babysitting her. I can then truthfully say. . .I didn't send the message. We were talking about you, but it was, in fact, my dumb drunk friend whose ass I'll be soon kicking. Which is true.
PS Object has endured a lot of mortification and idiocy from me on my part and drunkenness thusfar, and the boy is still calling me. I don't think will seriously jeopardize whatever we have going. . .which is a good quality in a man. Being able to indulge, tolerate, and even find endearing the ridiculous things I do on a regular basis. But this time, it wasn't really my fault!!