Chris doesn't have a problem. He has a solution.

You would think that after 24 years on this planet, one-third of which I have been sipping on sizzyrup, I would have learned my limits.

You would be wrong. You would be very wrong. What I have learned is that the minute I start drinking, my limits turn their phones off and go on an all-expense paid trip to Tahiti. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, I’m sorry that I’m about to repeat myself, but my past weekend can be best summed up by the song “Just Dance”. After having a little bit way, way too much, I lost both my keys and my phone. I woke up on Long Island at 9 AM on a Friday, and called out of work so that I could break into my apartment via the fire escape.

I think that’s a classy birthday celebration. But not something I care to repeat ever. So I’m going to lay out a few lessons that I learned over the weekend, for my own benefit, but also so that you, my innocent readers, can learn from my mistakes.

Lesson #1: Drinking to Get Drunk = How to Lose your Dignity in 10 Drinks (or Less)
I should have been alerted to the fact that this night was headed for disaster when my friend asked “What do you want?” and my response was “Something strong.” Dear readers, should you ever be drinking with me and I say I want something strong, please slap whatever beverage I am currently consuming to the floor, regardless of party fouling and point me to the exit. The last time I ordered “something strong” I drank three Long Island iced teas in 2 hours, and hit on my friend’s straight brother. Shamelessly. This is not to say I’m not successful in my mission to get royally fucked up. But I might be the perfect example of being too successful.

Lesson #2: Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Drink
Having gone to a school with a pretty good reputation for getting our drink on, I can handle my alcohol. But in a night when the alcohol consumed ranges from grain alcohol to rubbing alcohol, even the most seasoned of drinker’s is likely to black out and wake up tied to a school desk with fuzzy bunny ears on your head. In the night in question, I believe I drank every hard liquor under the sun, including a frozen margarita at some point. No wonder I woke up an hour and a half away from my apartment.

Lesson #3: When the Going Gets Drunken, the Drunken Turn Their Phones Off
If you’ve read this blog, you may know that I am quite a fan of drunk texts. I love sending them, I love receiving them. I don’t necessarily enjoy reliving my night through them, but at the time, they are fun times. However, drunk calls are a horse of a different color. Sure, some drunk calls are innocuous enough, like if you’re calling your friend to ask “Where the fuck are you, slut?” But it’s never a good idea to call a friend when your body realizes alcohol is a depressant. I’m going to invent a phone breathalyzer that will determine whether or not you are too drunk to be on the phone. While you’re busy breathily complaining about the state of your shambleshow of a life, your phone will be busy picking up the scent of Jack Daniels on your breath and S. it D., shut it down. Because sexually transmitted crazy mouth is not the only kind of crazy mouth you can contract. (Could Liz Lemon dictate more of my life? I don’t think so.)

Lesson #4: Whatever You Do, Don’t Wear Layers While Drinking
This may be a bit obscure for some of you. The reason I say this here is that I had the misfortune of wearing a jacket while I was out the other night. And I put my keys in said jacket. Then my jacket vanished. However, I would be lying if I said I’ve never also lost a shirt because I thought a Coyote Ugly style striptease was a good idea. Had I not worn an undershirt, I probably would have been more reluctant to take that layer off. To all of the female readers, I do not know how you can get smashed and somehow keep track of your bag/clutch/assorted other accouterments. Adding these things to your attire sounds like a recipe for a drunken misfortune to me. (On a related note, this past St. Patrick’s Day, I watched as some drunk girl ran literally right out of her shoes, and then left them behind, running barefoot on the filthiest street in existence. She now has herpes.)

On the whole, I’m a more or less responsible member of society. Every other life lesson I was supposed to learn is in there someone. Say please and thank you. Eat your vegetables. Pay your bills on time. I think it would be in the best interest of society at large if someone were to write a children’s book about responsible drinking. Get us all while we were young. If only Oscar the Grouch spent the better portion of his night drinking at Cooper’s, then wound up in bed with Snuffy, or if Curious George got curious with the Man in the Yellow Hat’s “special drinks” and spent the next day curious about the inside of the toilet, then maybe I would have learned these lessons earlier.

On the bright side, I’m not dead. And if I’m not mistaken, a wise sage once said “Just dance, gonna be ok, dada doo doo.” Dada doo doo, indeed.