I entitle this post part 1 for a very good reason. Well, two reasons actually. First, it’s highly likely that this will not be a one-time deal. In fact I think it’s safe to say that I frequently enjoy a beverage or two and that’s never going to change. And secondly, following consumption of said beverage, or two (or ten), I somehow manage to gain some sort of idiotic drunken wisdom that leads me to do something completely stupid. Like message PM2.
So last night, after what I would probably describe as one drink too many (pretty sure it was a beer, 2 bottles of wine, and a whisky chaser), I decide to read through the many messages PM2 has sent me while I was busy laughing my ass off with Hubs A watching The Wolf of Wall Street.
Side note: You’re probably wondering why I got so drunk, aren’t you? My answer, why the fuck not. It’s the weekend, do I need another excuse? Side note 2: Really fucking funny movie that one…pretty sure I laughed my ass off for 3 hours and gave an uncanny recreation of that cerebral palsy scene when trying to climb into bed last night.
Anyway, where was I…right, post movie, nursing my whisky chaser, and reading through my messages. It’s at this point that I realize, not only was I supposed to do something for the blog, but I also need to respond to PM2 and assure her that I am indeed a highly competent blog partner who gets the job done. Yeah I know, I laughed typing that one too. And let’s be honest, PM2 knows I’m a drunken idiot and I don’t really need to try and convince her otherwise. But you know how it is, that infinite drunk wisdom that comes with drinking a shitload of alcohol? You not only think you’re fucking amazing, you’re pretty sure you need to let the rest of the world know it too. Anyway, I digress, again. What I did do was this; log on, somehow manage to sort the blog issue I was supposed to have sorted four fucking hours ago, congratulated myself on how amazing I am despite intoxication, and then let PM2 know this too.
Apparently messaging PM2 however, was beyond the scope of my brain function, because that went a little something like this:
Now, I think it’s safe to say that there is probably some underlying message in that combination of emoticons, although I have yet to decode it. I will though, I am Yoda after all. Speaking of Yoda and all things Star Wars, let’s talk about this fucker…Mewbacca. Is he not the coolest cat to ever rule the galaxy?
Anyway, I digress. Again.
So, shortly after this highly entertaining correspondence with PM2, I was stumped to discover that the ringer volume icon thing on my phone suddenly wouldn’t disappear from the screen. I don’t even know where the fuck it came from in the first place, but I did know that trying to type with a blood alcohol volume of Fucking-Ridiculous was already making messaging hard, but trying to see around that big grey volume thingo, made it virtually impossible. So figuring Hubs A, on account of his bigger body weight, might be a little less inebriated than me, I threw my phone to him and said, “Help!” Hubs A rolled his eyes and said, “What?” I said, “The fucking volume thing, I can’t make it go away.” Hubs A then took one look at the phone and threw it back to me with, “Your phone cover’s on the wrong way, idiot.”
It was at this point that I decided to admit defeat, send a final message to PM2 where I felt the need to state what was by now, blatantly fucking obvious, and then pass the fuck out.
Yeah, the force is strong with this one.
Anyway, I guess the take home message on the shit show that went down last night is this; in a galaxy far, far away, I drink, I get drunk, I message PM2.
PM1
