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between a roux and a bechamel

Monday, October 22, 2007

Open Letter to Myself

Dear Amanda --

You are not 18 anymore. Try to remember that. Next time you go to see a friend's band play, maybe go home after their set is over. Or after the bar closes. You don't always have to go to the after party and stay up till 5am. Also, you don't have to stay at a party the next day until well after the sun is up and it is straight up daytime. You just don't. I know you're having fun and laughing and dancing and drinking delicious beer*, but trust me when I say, that tomorrow morning, when you're sitting in a fold up LL Bean chair at Fed Ex Field, that beer that was your friend Friday and Saturday will taste like poison. POISON. And you will barely have the strength to yell and stomp and do the things a responsible Redskins fan should. And you will crumble into your bed at 5:30 p.m. and sleep until the next day, with only a quick awakening to order pizza around 8:30. So honey, no matter how much fun you're having, or how much you really like your friends a whole lot and want to hang out with them forever n ever n ever, just make a sensible decision once in a while, and go to bed. You hear me? Get some sleep, you sorry sack. 7 hours in one weekend is NOT ENOUGH.


*And not doing blow, as some people accused me of. Just drinking beer. BEER.

Unrelated: "It's like Laura Ashley married a Poison video and then got really inappropriately drunk at the wedding and threw up all over Jennifer Connelly."


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