New Year’s Eve Text Messages

My Text Message Log From New Year’s Eve:

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Cab driver took one look at me and said, “guess you’re hoping for a better year, eh?”

And then he said his mother had the “psychic gift” and that he could “tell things.”

Feeling a little scared and vulnerable.

Hate cab driver.

Think he smells like weird soup.

Maybe some “chunky” variety.

Sirloin burger, perhaps.

Taking shitty route while he tries to get me to pay for a psychic reading.

Might be late for party.

Have you ever heard of anything so stupid? A psychic reading by your cab driver?

Feeling very happy I brought my flask out tonight.

How is the party?

Excellent.

Please save a bottle of wine for me!

Driver just said I need to live in a dry climate and should avoid olives.

No, not a clue why he thinks that.

Just hide the bottle in the bathtub. Put a blanket over it.

Okay, I’ll ask him.

He says it will be five bucks.

Bartering to give him lotto ticket instead.

Says I have an allergic aura.

Have you hid the wine?

Just do it!

That’s one of your resolutions, right? Do things!

So, just do it!

Jesus wouldn’t care.

Not stealing, redistribution.

Free market still at play, but regulated!

Am now asking driver what colour allergic aura is.

Says it doesn’t work like that.

I am drunk, yes.

At the address right now.

Driver just asked if I was on the pipe.

Crack pipe.

Because of my teeth.

Fucker.

Giving him expired lotto ticket for his psychic advice.

Yeah!

That bang you heard was me slamming the cab door!

See you soon, love you!

(there is a two hour time period where no text messages were sent)

HAPPAAY 20312 EVERYBODY!!!!

FUCK THE MAYA1!

HIGH HEELS VERY HARD TO DANSS IN.

FUCK11!

SPACE BROWNIES AWESOME

WHERE R UDUDE?

RACHYLLE AND I R AT PARTY

COME ON!

THEREES FUCING DRY ICE ANDHID 2 BOTTLES OF WINE IN OVEN!

This is Rachelle.

Michael is really, really drunk.

Yeah, like in a bad movie.

He’s very sweaty and I think he’s going to be sick.

We’re going to have to leave soon, so if you come, we’ll likely be gone.

DOING IT FUCKEN GAHGHNAMAHA SYTLE!!!!

CANT EAT OLIVES IN NEW YEAR.

BUMMER.

IT SUCKS UP MY AURA OR SOMETHING.

It’s Rachelle again.

We have to go.

He’s showing his scars to a couple.

He just asked them if they were foreign.

JUSS MET SOME CRAZY BRAZILIIAAAANIAS!

ONE WAS BALCK AND THE OTHER WHITE!

FREAK OUT!

It’s Rachelle again.

We’re in the cab home now.

Yes, he was just sick out the window.

Words can’t describe.

I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ll be able to make brunch tomorrow.