“Oh, you.”
When you send me texts that are witty, one-liner run downs of how drunk you were the previous night and what (or who) you did, or when I receive a short (and vague) text that merely hints at just how crazy-mixed-up-totally-out-there your life is, I can’t help but think how fucking sad it is that you feel the need to share these things with me. That your only means of striking up conversation is by starting a conversation with, “Let’s night I got soooooo drunk and (verbed) a (noun).”
(And that’s when I realize, what I’m trying to say here is “get a fucking blog.”)
