I make no secret of the fact that you can find me at home on the sofa most Friday nights. My time for hitting happy hour, followed by nachos, fries and some frenzied thrashing on the dance floor of some club are long gone. Despite spending most of my 20s and some of my 30s jumping around to Prince, techno and even hip hop, these days I do most of my Friday night dancing with my dog. To really bad dance music. In my PJs. And retainer.
Not so for many other 40 somethings. How do I know? Because I have the drunk texts to prove it.
You’ve all done it – drunk texts, Facebook posts and emails. And if you haven’t, give it time.
Around 11-ish on a Friday when the last drink/toke has sent the room slight askew and the blood has rushed to your groin, your phone is no longer a source for restaurant reviews, work email and maps. It’s now your high tech ticket to flirting.
You are hot, you are without restraint and you have the phone number of multiple chicks/ dudes you slightly fancy in your contacts list. And since you’re not talking, they can’t hear you slur. You are feeling really really eloquent, the iPhone helps you out when you can’t spell ‘especially’ and maybe that person will hit you back. You’re not sure what you’d do with that, but you do know you really really need to send that text. And you’re quite happy to tackle multiple media if you’re feeling spicy.. Don’t have his email, hit Facebook. Not friends on Facebook? Try his work email (because that’s what everyone needs at 8.06am on a Monday – your drunk ass). And of course, there’s always the text message. Because the next morning is always better when you can scroll through the entire intoxicated banter and try to work out what you were thinking.
‘Hey’ – (you are about to be inundated by text messages so you might want to turn off your phone)
‘Its me’ – (I can’t remember my name but maybe you can tell me)
‘The British chick’ – (I know that’ll narrow it down for you. Whats my name?)
‘Except now I’m American’ – (now you’re as confused as I am. Seriously do you know my name?)
‘Yay’ – (I can’t think of anything to say but I must keep texting)
‘or is that Yee Haw now?’ -(I think I’m funny)
‘hahahahahaha’ -(really funny)
‘Whatcha doing?’- (I want to hump you)
‘Bore. ing’- (because I’m up after 9pm for once)
‘Come have a drink’ -(I really want to hump you)
‘Its not late. Its only 11.30’ – (and we can be humping in about 20 minutes)
‘Next time’ – (when I’ve had too many vodka tonics)
‘I like you’ – (did you miss the fact that I want to hump you?)
‘Byeeeeeeee’ – (time to find another victim)
I finally learned to just delete the phone numbers of anyone I fancy before I headed out for a cocktail. Its a pain in the butt but its reduced my drunk media to zero. I know one friend who brings a padded mailer in her purse and mails her phone to herself to stop drunk texting. Effective you’d think – but to be honest, I’ve had to talk her out of buying a new phone at 10pm on more than one occasion.
These days I tend to be on the receiving end of alcohol induced chattiness. Why I am the recipient for drunk texts and Facebook posts I don’t know. I don’t kid myself that its due to my latent fantastical personality or looks. These guys never call or text when they’re sober, in daylight hours or when they’re coherent enough to drive. I’ve never been on a date with any of them. But after 12 beers and a couple of shooters, these guys seem to remember I have nice boobs and reach out for a chat.
Or maybe its just because my name is easy to spell.
So to all you drunk texters, emailers and Facebookers. Let it be known that while we’re mystified, we’re slightly flattered and you make our Saturday mornings more interesting. Just don’t send photos okay?