A polite letter to the friend who gets way too drunk at pregames
And if you don’t have this friend, you are this friend
Dear Friend (usually named Lindsey or Courtney or something),
We come to you, woman-to-woman, out of love and friendship. We care about you very much and want you to know: you’ve gotta fucking stop. Your tendency to get fucked up before we even step foot in the Uber is killing our vibe every single weekend. And it’s not just lame for us — it kind of blows for you too. I mean, look at everything you’ve done:
Soiled the pregame for everyone
It’s called ‘pre’ for a reason. We all want to kick back and let loose, but when you and 1D are hogging the aux cord, it’s a lot less enjoyable for all of us. You’ve spilled Steve’s wine on the rug, vomited in the sink before 9pm and cried twice. We haven’t left yet, and your phone isn’t on. What could you possibly be upset about.
Lost your entire life somewhere between the house and the bar
You will now be sentenced to a month of having to use your student ID plus a credit card plus an expired passport to get into bars as you’ve left your purse in the bar bathroom again. And, on top your MIA purse containing the lipstick I lent you for the night, all of our Sunday brunch plans are now cancelled so we can make a trip to retrieve your lost items.
Never ‘got me on Venmo’ — again
You’ve never ‘gotten me on Venmo.’ At this point you could buy me one drink and I would call all the past drinks even. But no, you insist, it will be different. You even whip out your phone to show commitment as I’m ordering, but for some reason when the drinks come, your phone slips back into your purse, and you dance off into the crowd.
Killed the night at 11pm with your Irish Exit
Look, squad means family and family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten. It’s not super fun when you decide to David Blaine and peace the fuck out without so much as a, “I’m going to meet this guy, bye!” We’ll have to decide if you’ve been abducted or if you’re just a flake. TBH, I don’t know which is worse.
Hooked up with those nasty guys
I’m not mad at you for hooking up, I’m mad at you for hooking up with him, because it’s going to be my problem tomorrow when he ‘just won’t stop texting’ you. You did this to yourself, hun. Made your bed, now lie in it, because I know sober you would have at least shot for a six.
Went black-ops for the night
We have to field panicked calls by everyone from your boyfriend to your grandma because you decide to go off the grid (read: drop your phone in a storm drain). I know you had an entire bag of wine while you worked on your makeup tonight, but that doesn’t mean you get to go rogue and leave the rest of us trying to track your whereabouts with a corkboard and red string to make sure you’re not face-down in a Bed-Stuy gutter.
Became a destructive monster
Don’t get me wong: even though I put it on Snapchat, I am not amused that you ripped our oven out of the wall as you tried (and failed) to make tatertots while drunk on 4 Loko. I’m even less amused that you did it at 10 pm. Save it for after midnight if you insist on doing it at all.
Look, you’re a blast. Just try to keep up and don’t get too far gone before midnight. You know we’re only saying this because we love you.
Oh, and you still owe us on Venmo.