2004-07-23 - 10:56 a.m.
MY SINCERE APOLOGIES TO FRIENDS, LOVERS, AND ANYONE ELSE WHO GOT IN MY WAY
Alcohol is not my friend. Like Stephen Baldwin said on Stern this morning, "Satan I bind you from thee," or "Get behind me Satan," or some other holy roller shit. At any rate, that�s what I should�ve been saying to the cocktail shaker of margaritas in front of me last night. I got so drunk I was hungover before I even finished drinking. Ain�t that a bitch? Hungover before drinking even ceased. Here is a picture of what my liver probably looks like. Disgusting. I should be ashamed of myself, and yet, I�m slightly pleased. To do that much damage to your liver in a mere 26 years requires a focus I reserve strictly for writing, drinking, and maintaining my neuroses. Don�t alcoholics make amends? Since I�m well on my way to becoming one, perhaps I�ll get a headstart on the amends thing:
Dear Patrons of Copabanana Who Were Stupid Enough to Bring Children Within a Five Mile Radius of Pencopal,
I�m sorry I said cock, bitch, pussy, vagina, dick, asshole, and �sitting on his face� in front of your children. I didn�t realize they were sitting so close to me until I�d already given them an earful. Once I realized their proximity, I continued, because hell, they�d already heard a few of the seven dirty words. Might as well fill in the blanks. Look at the bright side, at least I didn't say cunt. Whoops, I think I said that, too. Hopefully, when you got home, you didn�t have a lot of explaining to do.
Dear Roommate (who�s sometimes known as OBJ),
I�m not really sorry I got loud with you on the way to the concert regarding your incessant teasing of the office nerd. Didn�t you realize when you met me (though my cape was at the cleaners) that I was a champion of the people? Goddamn it, I love the underdog. I�m appalled by you and your scumbag office buddies who openly make fun of a guy who obviously suffers from acute social anxiety. It makes me want to hit you, which I almost did last night when you lightly tapped me on the arm for emphasis. Don�t ever do that again, if you want to keep your face intact.
Dear L-Boogie, Hot Librarian Chick, and E-Money,
I can�t remember if I said anything off color to you last night, but to cover all bases, I�m apologizing anyway.
Dear The Honey,
I�m sorry I called you in all the way in San Diego, only to slur my speech and babble about how awesome the show was. You know what tequila does to me, so I�m sure nothing I said was a surprise. But since I felt slightly guilty on top of hungover this morning, I�m might have said something rude about the hot chick who stalks you out there every year. Please excuse my unfounded insecurity.
Dear Pastori-i,
I will never drunk dial you again, until the next time I get drunk and want to call somebody. While it was fun to laugh wildly into your voicemail while calling you a pussy and asking you where your skirt was, I became slightly ashamed later that evening. I should�ve called you a snatch and asked you where your tampon was. I�ll do better next time.
Dear Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs,
I�m sorry I didn�t get to show you my tits last night. That other girl beat me to it, and hey, nobody likes a follower.
Sincerely,
Pencopal
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