Drunk dialing is scary, drunk IMing is even scarier, especially the ones that asks you, “Where’s my mother $#%& hot wings?” I hate it when I get weird questions and being called all kinds of names by the drunken waste of humanity whose brain was short-circuited by alcohol. You can hang up a drunk call, but you can’t stop drunk IM messages, they just keep popping up like horrible porn ads. The disadvantage of being abroad, especially 12 time zones away in China, is that when it’s bar time over in Btown, it’s work and study time here. Just when I desperately needed to finish a fifteen-page anthropology paper in four hours, I got interrupted by inquiries about spicy wings!! And did I say I hate being called names? One more item added to the things I look forward to doing when I get back to Btown: smack that person’s head. I am waiting for the apology. If I were drunk dialing, I would call 2pac, because her squeaky voice will make my facial laughing muscles go spastic.
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