D'oh!

Evidence that I'm the luckiest bitch on this planet? Last night turned out the way it did instead of the way it could have. Exhibit A: the picture at right, taken for Rob, that did not also end up getting sent to my ex. Luckily I retained enough presence of mind at the end of the night to tell myself to THINK TWICE ABOUT THIS, MORON after successfully navigating to the guy's Facebook page. (Yes, I too imagine that had it reached him, he would have felt sorrier for me than for himself.) Moving on.

Exhibits B through G, on my nightstand (not pictured here): an empty drinking glass, two empty cans of Vanilla Coca-Cola, and the bottle of Bacardi featured in the cheesy slut picture at right; in addition to a cached bowl of weed and my lighter. Need I say more.

Exhibit H: Written record of what turned out to be one of the most honest conversations I've ever had. Fortunately, it happened to be with Amber Riley, my best friend from childhood, rather than, say, my former roommates, who I very nearly hate, or again, my ex. Turns out Amber was smoking a joint around the same time I was getting high, and she decided to message me out of the blue. This morning, in my phone's photo gallery remain several awful pictures of my tear-streaked face sobbing after she invited me to her wedding. Even after all these years and even while sober, I would never have expected her to consider giving me that honor after the way I treated her in middle school. (The story of our history is a long one that I haven't the time to relay here unabridged. What it boils down to is that in 7th grade, I acted like a cunt to her for horrible reasons involving religion, and as a result we stopped speaking after 6 years of being inseparable.) Though I've seen her since, and occasionally interact with her on Facebook, last night was the first time we ever really talked about what happened. It was so unexpected and beautiful. And even though I was too drunk and high to type completely coherently, we ended up reconnecting in a way that probably wouldn't have been possible had I not been feeling so open and vulnerable.

Note: in each of the aforementioned pictures can be seen a small chocolate smudge in the lefthand corner of my mouth from the ice cream I was inhaling while chatting with Amber. Amusingly/even more pathetically, the carton from which I was eating ended up in one of the frames as well.

But they were happy tears. I promise.

And then there were the text messages to and phone conversations with Rob. All of which went fine, but only because he's a sweet guy. From what I can remember, I was probably pretty annoying.

So the moral of the story, kids, is that even when you make an ass of yourself, at least you didn't make an even bigger ass of yourself. I was trashed enough to do almost anything, and I didn't even put my relationship at risk. In fact, as a direct result of my state, a long-lost friendship was recovered. Whaddaya know! And I used to think drugs were evil...

So that's pretty much my night. When I woke up, my sheets were stained with ice cream, my heat was jacked and my fan was on full blast, my bedroom was spinning. But by god, I was one lucky hungover sonofabitch.