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A Letter To All The Drunk Girls I’ve Met In The Bar Bathroom

A Letter To All The Drunk Girls I've Met In The Bar Bathroom

Ladies,

I miss you all every day. You each hold a chunk of my heart, just as that bar holds a chunk of my liver. The time I spend with you is absolutely priceless, and though I can’t remember, like, 90 percent of it, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. You are each a beautiful haze of screams and laughs, and I wish we could all get together and catch up.

How are you, random girl who said she liked my hair? I want you to know that your much appreciated and slightly overwhelming string of compliments made my night, which I realize is sort of sad on my part, but that’s only because I didn’t get laid and I spilled vodka-cranberry on my brand new shirt. You were a ray of sunshine on that otherwise uneventful evening, and I wish you all the best in life.

I’m probably most concerned about you, birthday girl. I understand that your twenty-first is a big deal, but thirty shots is just excessive. Considering the load you’re able to drink, you should probably hang a loaf of bread off your neck in lieu of a few broken pretzels. I hope you managed to scrub all of the sharpie off of your arm (and probably your face, because your friends are dicks) before Sunday chapter brings you a heap-load of shame from exec board and inevitably some admiration from the freshmen.

To the girl hooking up with my ex: I’m glad we could bond over our mutual sluttiness. I think I speak for the both of us when I suggest that we never would have been civil to each other had it not been for the massive amounts of alcohol consumed before the trip to the bathroom. Regardless, you are a decent human being and I’m happy to find out that you aren’t a “steaming bag of shit,” the nickname I had coined for you when I was bitching about the situation to my friends prior to our introduction.

And what about you, drunk crying girl? Did your boyfriend ever stop being a prick? I don’t know you, your name, or anything about your life, but I’d like you to know that you deserve better. I think you already know this information, though, because you repeatedly screamed, “I DESERVE BETTER THAN THAT RAT BASTARD!” between sobs. Shout-out to your very tolerant friend who spent the majority of that night wiping mascara and snot from your over-tanned and under-exfoliated face. We all need people like her in our lives.

To the bitch who pissed me off: Even though I can’t remember what you did to make me hate you (or even if you did anything at all) I think we should make amends. I know that I also acted immaturely, as I recall spending the better half of that night bitching about you to my friends and sending you the stink-eye from across the bar. I apologize for my immaturity. But seriously, fuck you.

I miss you bitches, and I wish you the best in all of your future drunken endeavors. Our friendship was brief but beautiful, like the amount of time that those triple wells spent in my body before I puked my guts out. I hope to see you ladies around, even though I’m positive I wouldn’t recognize your faces if I did.

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Lucky Jo

Lucky Jo is a former and current TSM writer who likes her men how she likes her coffee: way too hot and unforgivably bitter. She graduated from the University of Missouri in 2016, proving that C's do in fact get degrees. She now spends her days working for a social media marketing agency, hiking with her dachshund, and trying to bring back the scrunchie. Hate mail and goat memes can be sent to lucyjmulvihill@gmail.com.

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