Dear Last Night's Bartenders,

Thank you for pouring the tequila with a heavy hand. I got obliterated enough that I could deal with the fact that the only people who asked me to dance at the club were a 70-year-old chain-smoker and a rather large fellow with an apparent need for any sort of female attention, but not so trashed that I felt the need to die at any point in the evening/this morning. I appreciate that. And speaking of last night, if the only males with enough balls to pay me any attention are either one foot in the grave or probably wishing desperately that they had lots of twinkies with them, well it's just proof that men as a whole are hopeless-- as evidenced further by the fact that I drunk-dialed my long-term crush/former hook-up/best hope for producing smart kids to make suggestive innuendos involving the washing machine, and he told me I woke him up from a needed sleep because he'd spent the prior night in jail (strike one) after getting arrested while on probation for DUI (strike two) while on a blind date (strike three). (He says they were just "hanging out" in his truck in the park. Sure they were. I've been in that truck. I know what being in that truck leads to, and it's not *just* discussions of the Middle East.)

Anyway, thanks again for the booze. Hope you appreciated your tips.

Happily drunk is the way to be,
R