August 22nd 2014
And so are you.
Of being THAT friend that’s so damn
That we end up looking like this:
Maybe it’s not us.
So behalf of me, you and our dear friend Judy
An on-hand apology letter has been concocted just for us—filled to the margins with collected (and true) episodes from our batshit friends involving blacked out adventures that we’re apologizing for like this:
Olive & Nicole Detamble present
An Apology Letter From Your Blacked Out Friend
You being everyone.
And everyone being:
My roommate who only knows I made it home alive via the trail of pizza sauce leading to my bedroom.
Cabbie who attempts to drive me home whilst I subject him to my romantic woes.
Guys 2 apartments down from me who consequently get a live “remix” performance of “Awesome God” that unfortunately echoes up and down the halls. But just so you know. When you yell “Shut up whore” I always think you’re saying “Hows about that encore” but only because
Sorry local pizza guy who always has an entire pizza pie at the ready whenst I kick down the door circa 2am
Sorry to coworkers that I coerce into staying out for a “fireball fiesta”…resulting in a bare minimum work ethic the very next day:
For blacking out. Coming home. Drinking all your yoohoos and then screaming an impromptu rap song called “chocolate drink in skating rinks”
You knew it was gonna be that kind of night when I texted you around 8 p.m to “please meet me at the bar that we consciously try to avoid.” And this debauchery was confirmed around 10:01 p.m. when I texted you to say I invented a new drink called Vokda & TonkaTruck.
And that I had 7.
And also a Rum and choke.
…that I felt the need to make a song for too…
…And again at 10:23 p.m. when the only readable words in my passionate text messages that seemed to survive autocorrect were “fried”, “garlic butter”and “I’m feeling spicy.”
…And probably one more time around 1:14 a.m. when you were sound asleep like a normal human on a weeknight and I left you an extensive voicemail about how we needed to purchase “Fresh Belgian french fries from Kuwait” and never go back to “Hurricane Hanks” because of “Kevin with The Shirt” and “Sarah with the Jew Pants.” I don’t even know what that means. Just that I started talking to someone on the sidewalk and dubbed them my friend because our shoes were the same color which segued into a conversation that got really deep.
A second apology to the cabbie for incessantly dancing in the street and waving you down robot style, and telling you when I got in the car that I was a “just a mammal with a lot of feelings” and that you should listen to my latest hit “Hibernation Sensation” that goes something like this
I shouldn’t have tried to pay you in tic tacs. Or my Panera rewards card either. That wasn’t cool. Neither was telling you the address of my old apartment instead of my current one.
And not realizing it >>>>>> until I was halfway
<<<<<<< (not) home.
Thanks for turning up that song I like, listening to me sing it off key and not minding the fact that I was obviously snapchatting my face and probably yours too.
I hope you enjoyed me moonwalking away from you car. I can only imagine I looked amazing.
Sorry to my significant other for buzzing into your apartment 50 times to the theme song of Friends.
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZZZZZZZZZ!
I just had to tell you about my new business plan that I wrote down in my notes to have water taxis take people to bars on boats. ALL THEY WOULD HAVE TO DO is bring their swim trunks, and their “flippy floppies.”
I’m also sorry for eating pizza in your bed and getting ranch all over your floor and begging you to download Mulan and then crying because I had nightmares about huns. Not to mention I broke into your spice cabinet and poured “chicken seasoning” all over my snack and then tried to make out. I guess that’s not what you meant by “spicing things up in the bedroom…”
My bad to my boss for being absolutely worthless post week-day rager and giving you food envy when I order three McGriddles with everything on it and an extra large iced coffee.
Sorry diet for totally fucking you up with all the foods. And sorry exercise plan I had for this week because you’re pretty much done for. Very sorry to the college version of myself because you thought mature decisions would set in by now but they really just…haven’t…
Sorry Japanese Steakhouse I texted thinking you were my mom.
And sorry mom, because well – just sorry.
I hope you can all forgive me. Peeing in your bed was just a three time thing! I’m really quite embarrassed.
But then again.
Bagels, Booze and Probably A Bra,
Olive, Nicole…And Judy