LOL, OMG, ;) Hit Me Up, WTF?

“Can you send a nasty pic
So I can see right where it is
And I promise I won’t show my friends (yeah, right)
She replied, well okay, BTW by the way
SMH, it’s such a shame, that you ain’t learned a damn thing
Ha ha, OMG, LOL, KIT
Smiley faces, X and O’s, L, M, F-A-O.” ~ Ludacris, “Sexting”

As I slowly awaken from seven hours of alcohol-induced deeper-than-usual sleep, I’m torn between wanting to snuggle deeper into my warm, toasty comforter, and throwing off my blanket to make the 20 foot trek to the bathroom. In a futile attempt at procrastination, I reach for my cell phone, eyes crusty and still sleepy, to check for any missed calls or texts. Nope, nothin’. Sigh…

I begin scrolling through already-received text messages. As I read, I’m confused for about two seconds… wondering what so-and-so meant when they said this or that; to what were they replying? With sudden clarity, it hits me: I was drunk-texting last night. Please don’t let there be anything too stupid, please don’t let there be anything too stupid, I silently repeat as I open my sent messages folder. But I don’t see any sent messages from last night; I must not have saved them when I sent them. I’m not sure if this is a good or bad thing. I want to know what I said while under the influence, but at the same time, I’m afraid to know. I’m mouthy enough when I’m sober. But put a little alcohol in my system and all bets are off. I really should just surrender my phone to someone when I drink but even if I did, I’d probably wear down the unfortunate soul with my incessant nagging until they relented and ended up chunking it at my head in frustration.

It’s not that I text anything terrible when I’ve been drinking. On the contrary, I’m a “happy drunk.” Drunk Jen loves nothing more than to hug everyone within arm’s reach and tell them (repeatedly) how awesome they are. On the flip side, however, a heavy Gemini influence in my chart (Venus, Mars, and Saturn in Gemini) coupled with an equally communicative Aquarius Moon endows me with the tendency to be quite chatty. This is evident in sobriety and amplified exponentially when I’m intoxicated.

“Can we forget about the things I said when I was drunk?
I didn’t mean to call you that
I can’t remember what was said or what you threw at me
Please tell me, please tell me why
My car is in the front yard and I’m
Sleepin’ with my clothes on
I came in through the window last night
And you’re gone…gone.” ~ Lit, “My Own Worst Enemy”

A quick glance through my inbox today, for example, clearly reveals that I was feeling saucy enough to hit up my ex-Cancer cusp longtime boyfriend. Judging by his responses, which were friendly and – thank Christ – understanding, he didn’t mind too much. One reply stated: “Haha! Gud luc. Asprin, caffine, watr” [sic], which likely refers to something I babbled regarding the fact that I’d probably regret all this in the morning. Another read: “No biggie. Its me. Membr me? U took pics a me” [sic]. I do vaguely remember texting something about my Leo girlfriend taking pictures of me puking in her front yard when I was trashed last Saturday night. And he’s referring to the particularly nasty period at the end of our eight-year relationship when he was passed out on the bathroom floor after knocking out a 30-pack of Natural Light. I’m ashamed of it now, but I uploaded that picture to Facebook faster than you can say “tag.” He didn’t, and doesn’t, have a Facebook account, but I posted it in a misguided need for validation as well as sympathy; I wanted people to see that image of him sprawled across the linoleum, shake their heads, and say, “Wow…look what she has to put up with, he is a worthless drunk!” And express opinions they did; I received several comments to that effect. However, his former cousin in-law – another sensitive, loyal Cancerian who was a mutual friend – commented that although she loved me, she also loved her cousin and she didn’t appreciate seeing him being unfairly flogged online for all the Land of Facebook  to see. Stubborn Aries that I am, I grudgingly took it down, not because she was offended (I unfriended her after that; there was an obvious conflict of interest now that he and I were going through a breakup), but also because – deep breath – I knew it was wrong. (That’s right, I admit it.)

Additionally, I have a foggy recollection of firing off several texts to my Aquarian tree friend while in the midst of my drunken stupor. Because I failed to save my sent texts, I’m not sure exactly what I was rambling about (again, maybe that’s a good thing), but I vaguely remember drunkenly lamenting my lost relationship and requesting his infinite Water Bearer wisdom: should I wait and hope my estranged Cancer cusp someday wants to try again, or should I stop looking back and move on? Why I would ask for his advice on the matter, I have no idea because I already know what he would tell me, which is what most sane folks would suggest: to let it go, it’s in the past. Come to think of it, I also asked the Aquarius to please not ignore me and told him that I needed a friend…and what do you know; after looking through my inbox, I see he never replied. (Note to self: pick bone with Aquarian hippie about willfully neglecting to comfort a [drunk] friend in need!)

“And now we lookin’ like pimps
In my gold Trans-Am
Got a water bottle full of whiskey
In my handbag
Got my drunk text on
I’ll regret it in the mornin’
But tonight I don’t give a…I don’t give a…I don’t give a.” ~ Ke$ha, “Take It Off”

It would be incredibly helpful to have some kind of app that prompts you before sending a text message, “Are you sure you won’t regret this in the morning?” Better still, how about a device built in to the phone which requires you to blow into it for a BAC reading prior to sending, and if it registers more than, say, the legal limit, your phone automatically shuts down. (I should patent that; I could be a millionaire, folks!)

Even with all that, I have good reason to be proud of myself. After all, it could have been much worse. There’s a saying that goes, “Drunkenness reveals what sobriety conceals.” At least I hadn’t blathered incoherently to the ex about how I love and miss him and wish we could somehow manage to repair the damage and work things out. I also hadn’t drunk-texted (or sexted) any prior hookups or – perhaps more disturbing – any hookups I would like to have.

Oh, yeah. It could have been infinitely worse.

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