Wednesday, May 27, 2009

shaniqua don't live here no mo'

One night, after imbibing way too much, I decide that I need to take myself home. My roommates stay behind since the bar is less than a five minute walk to the apartment. Lori is kind enough to keep me company on the phone to make sure I'm not kidnapped and that I don't end up tripping and falling into any bushes. She just wants to make sure that I make it the few blocks home, and I am chattering on about this and that, maybe I thought I'd discovered the secret to world hunger. There's no telling what sort of idiotic statements were tumbling out of my drunk mouth.

So I get to my stoop, put my key into the lock and.. hey.. it's not working. At this point my voice hit a glass-breaking pitch and she is struggling to understand what the hell is going on.

Me: squeal squeal IT'S NOT whine whine WORKINGGGGGGG
Lori: What's not working?
Me: MY KEEEEYYY I CAN'T GET INSIIDEEEE squeeeaaaalll
Lori: Is the key upside down?
Me: NOOO I TOLD YOU IT'S NOT WORKING I CAN'T GET INSIDDEEEEE

Insert more incoherent squealing, whining and yelling. And then I look up and see the address. Then, like a lightning bolt, I am hit with a flash of sobriety. It is surely fleeting so I have to take advantage. Oh, okay, this makes sense. I don't actually live in this building. I live next door. So I scamper my stupid ass one apartment building over and in the soberest voice I can muster I tell Lori that I'm okay! I'm in my apartment! I'm home! She is not fooled and calls me out on it and says "You weren't even at your building, were you?"

Goddamnit. I need to stop drinking.

One day.

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