I hate the morning after.

Yet again I began my morning not hungover but still drunk. I walked into my living room scattered with the bodies of sleeping boys, surf boards and coolers along the walls, and LJ in her robe trying to clean up the mess that was my kitchen.

Recollections of arriving home – British boys being at my house, being so intoxicated I couldn’t hold a conversation with either them or LJ… and then heading down to La Lo’s to interrupt what could have been a wonderfully quiet time with her and her boyfriend, SB – filled my mind as I stuck a note on La Lo’s door thanking her for (hopefully) tolerating Drunk OC girl…

I made my obligatory “morning after” phone calls to the abundance of people on my dialed calls list. (I shit you not when I say I’m the queen of drunk dialing) Then sent off a text to TM apologizing for my drunken texts to him last night. (Yes, I did say the queen).

Piecing back together what had unexpectedly turned into an impromptu Sunday Funday, I called Beach Chic and lamented over the fact that I had to be going to work at all… why does Headache Monday need to come so close to Sunday Funday????

I had the absolute best weekend hanging out with La Lo. Cheering SB and his soccer boys into the Western Championship filled the weekend, with much celebration afterwards (thus the repercussions of the choices, or rather consumption, being beared today).

I did the stupidest thing, however, yesterday (if I had a nickel…) by trying to explain something while drunk, telling only half of the story and then continuing to talk about it into the ground. I realized it was dumb to say, but in my state of drunkenness I thought that not shutting up about it would somehow might make it better.

Allow me to explain…


Last year I had this amazing friend, Park, and her fiancé, PG, that I would hangout with all the time. Literally every weekend was spent at their house… I was to be in their wedding… It was on. BFF.

Whenever I have a friend who is in a serious relationship with a guy I will treat the guy like one of my girlfriends. They hear all the un-edited OC girl stories (yes even you only read the edited version… scary isn’t it?) The guy becomes one of my close peeps through just hanging out a lot. This is inevitable.

Park suggested that PG come over and hang out with me one night while she was in Vegas with some friends for a bachelorette party. PG and I were talking and drinking, and he suddenly started telling me how awesome I was and how he wished he could be with me. I tried to divert the conversation back to how fabulous Park was, and he continued to go on about me and how it would be great if he and I could be together.

I decided to remove myself from the conversation and go to bed. He was going to sleep on the couch (again Park knew about this). After I got in bed, he came into my room. I asked him to get out, but he thought that he was being cute and kept trying to come in. Cute this was not. I told him to knock it off, but he would not stop his attempts at coming in my room (never had I tried to use the door lock until that night, and discovered it was broken) until I literally screamed, “You stupid Mother Fucker, get the fuck out.”

Nothing was ever quite the same, yadda yadda yadda, and a little while later my friendship with them ended.

So this tale has caused me to be extra cautious and guarded when it comes to befriending a couple.


Cut to yesterday when I’m playing beer pong with SB, waiting for La Lo to come over, and I drunkenly say, “I just want you to know that last year I had a couple as friends, and he hit on me, so I never want that to happen here.”

That one sentence does very little to explain the entire situation that occurred, and makes me sound like some egocentric, self-absorbed chick that thinks every guy is out to hit on her.

Too drunk to determine that I should have explained the actual situation, or at least done something to lessen what I had said, SB looked at me and said that I had nothing to worry about, La Lo is the most important thing to him and he would never do that.

Feeling like I shouldn’t have said anything I told La Lo what I had said upon her return to the house for some sort of confessional-esque repentance. Again I just told her what I said without any further explanation.

To be honest the evening gets rather fuzzy after that point. I know we went to the Fair, ate some food, rode some rides, and headed back home. I went upstairs saw LJ, and headed back down to La Lo’s… where I decided to bring the comment up again, La Lo (probably looking at my accessibility to her place now with chagrin) was totally nice about it, and I ended up going back home and falling asleep (read: passed the fuck out).

If I can’t remember everything from the previous evening, why can’t the stupid shit that I do be part of what I forget? As my motto is, “If I can’t remember it, it didn’t happen”, I would much rather never remember the bad… only the good. Is that too much to ask?