You into red flags & drunk makeouts? Perfect.

What up, blog numero dos. Let's call this one, "Now you're just somebody that I used to blow." Catchy song, isn't it? Well where do we start. Back track a few Thursdays ago where I couldn't stand up and was busy pretending my girl Lindsey's birthday was my own. Yikes. I violated rule number one in my life that same evening, NO PDA. I don't know where I found time to breathe between choking down a dozen vodka/waters and transferring a great deal of saliva with a tall drink of water. Next night, D-DAY. I was spotted at one bar holding a hot dog in one hand and two shots of Rumpy in the other. Next bar, spotted with no hot dog and two shots of Gold. I hope that damn hot dog was delicious because it isn't on my god forsaken diet plan. After falling over my feet and hitting pavement outside Stella, I managed to disappear into an alley and find a cab. Twenty seven missed calls later, 14 missed texts messages, my bra in my purse, and a pounding headache, I woke up on Easter morning. I was still hammered for Christ's sake. Quite literally. I tried to quietly dial 217-523-4545 without waking the unknown, sleeping beauty next to me. Half scared that I was sleeping next to a mutant, I refused to turn over until I realized I had no god damn clue where I was or what the address was. Finally, I gathered enough courage to roll over..and..ah, thank god. Just him. I know you're wanting a slutty answer, but thankfully, it was just a guy friend. Good lookin' out. The cab driver was luckily the same one that dropped me off four hours prior. He laughed hysterically between drags of his USA Golds and told me I begged him to let me, "Ride around all night and play Cash Cab." I managed to get a free cab ride and his piece of mind that, "I should respect myself in order to really find a hubs I love." Much to his surprise, I'm perfectly content being braless and shameless on this wonderful holiday. Also, I give anyone reading this full permission to stab me if I ever actually refer to my husband as, "Hubs." Little does this cabby know, I'm easy to love but impossible to date. Not only did I miss my family dinner that Easter, I didn't leave the couch or even attempt to shower for a solid twenty-four hours. Has anyone ever told you that, "There is someone out there for everyone and you will find him"? Is it sad that those who know me already know to add on, "And you will somehow manage to fuck that up" at the end of the wise words? Another solid week of drunken decisions, most of them horizontal, made fucking up something good quite the reality. And it wasn't the fun kind of horizontal. It was the kind where my foot gets stuck inside a pot hole outside the gay bar and I go down faster than any of those gaybee's after closing time. Who blames me? I had to continuously rehydrate in order to keep up with some energizer bunny that resembled Kate Gosselin and Aunt Jackie (The season where she was a cop) on the dance floor. The bitch wouldn't quit. She/he also had a sidekick that was a clone of Phil Phillips. I would allow the actual Phil Phillips to phil me up, but this little troll needed a new grill and a training bra. I don't know if I was more jealous of his/her energy or the fact that she/he looked better in skinny jeans than I did. The last time I visited the gay bar I woke up that Tuesday morning with a glow stick and three condoms in my bra. First question, who the h-e-double hockey sticks uses those things anymore and when did I party with the evil, dubstep sister of RuPaul? Remember the dude I messed things up with before? Yeah. The two times I managed to drunkenly take off my bra, a movie ticket for an 8:00pm showtime for, "21 Jumpstreet" and a twenty dollar bill fell out of it. Safe keeping? Not only am I taking applications for a life coach, I am also needing to hire someone to follow me around with a camera so I can recap how these random objects find their way in my shirt. I am willing to pay a great deal if someone will work alongside the homeless man I'm hiring to follow me around playing the Rocky theme song on a boombox. So, there I was. Down in the dumps. After spending a week trippin' out over the same dude, I needed somewhere to balance being classy and not giving a fuck. I needed an extreme pick me up, so where do I head? No place other than the drunk dumps of central Illinois, Trailorhell. The place where my decisions are almost as bad as my hangovers. My beautiful cousin is getting married in June, so a few of us girls got together and hosted a beautiful bridal shower, which naturally, involved large amounts of wine consumption at 2:00pm. Saturday, April 21, 2012 was dubbed a, "Hot mess in a pretty dress" kind of day. The rest of that day is going to be kept in the vault. That type of information can either land me a role on a Lifetime movie premiere or a new episode of Snapped. These last two weeks have taught me a few things: My first language is sarcasm and drunken slur is a close second. If home is where the heart is than I live at a bar-Starbucks-H&M. If your Facebook status is, "Fuck bitches, get money" than I'm 780% certain you won't be doing either of those things. Even when I find something or someone I enjoy as much as booze, I still know booze will be there in the morning. Thanks to my fellow, drunken girlfriends for being so supportive! We go together like tequila and drunk texting. UNTIL NEXT TIME, YOU DIRTY SKALLYWAGS.