Between Tequilas, Texts and Tylenol

To everyone who is, was or will be in college.

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In case you have never been on Texts From Last Night, just know that each number before each texts represents an area code for a State in America. I hope you understand the texts cause that's where the humor lies.

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College. Hell yeah! What do I know about college?

Off the top of my head, the following:

You're not an alcoholic until you're out of college.

It's completely okay to drink on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. And Mondays and Wednesdays. And, well, Sundays, why not?

"Hey, what the hell did I do last night?" tends to be a more frequent question than, "Hey, how are you?"

The most frequent reply to aforementioned frequent question is, "I have no idea, I was totally hammered".

You are of no value whatsoever until you have made at least one appearance in Texts From Last Night.

So yeah, it was one of those mornings. One of those crazy, crazy mornings when my head felt like it was carrying the load of a giant Ceratopsian – it's a type of dinosaur, I did mention I was in college? – attached to a blue Whale. Yes, I had too much to drink the night before. No, I have no recollection of exactly how much. You see after my seventh shot, the memory starts fading a little bit. The word is I'm a lightweight. I know right? I don't really get it either.

I checked the time. It was 11.47 a.m... Too early to try and get in touch with anyone else. Usually we went for Saturday brunch in the college cafeteria at about 3.30, fifteen minutes before it closed.

Anyways, now how on earth was I to figure out what the fuck was had happened last night before the usual "last night" talks over brunch. I reach over for my bottle of Tylenol, while deeply in thoughts.

And then it hit me. How could I have forgotten about God's divine gift given to twenty-first century college-based humanity: the phenomenon of texting? I immediately slide – if your phone doesn't slide sideways revealing a proper keypad and you're in college, you might as well jump off the nearest building you find – my Motorola Rival and start going frantically through all my texts. And now in true TFLN style, I present to you, my last night:

Disclaimer: All (917) numbers are me. Stalkers stay away. All (646) numbers are my - desperately for the want of a better phrase – "friend" with benefits. All (507) numbers are my best friend from boring upstate. All (515) numbers are my best friend from boring Iowa. Other area codes are simply insignificant people who I party with and don't give a rat's ass about.

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(646):

I thought you were coming over?

(917):

That's all you can think of, isn't it? COMING? I'll tell you mister, you ain't coming any time soon.

(646):

Okay, how much did you have to drink already?

(914):

Suck my dick.

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(917):

I told him to suck my dick, bitch.

(515):

Babe, you're a girl. We're endowed differently.

(917):

He doesn't need to know that.

(515):

I suspect he figured it out during one of the many times you had sex with him.

(917):

I am pretty sure I just saw your boyfriend peeing in front of the tree. People are throwing quarters at him. Let me check my purse…

(515):

Babe, I don't have a boyfriend.

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(202):

Who the hell is Barry the Bartender?

(917):

I want to rejoice in his… Okay, I cannot think of a fancy literary way to say this right no-

(917):

Right now but yeah, I want to have sex with him.

(646):

You want to what in who's what again?

(917):

What the fuck are you talking about? Suck my dick, bitch.

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(507):

Are you sure you're okay?

(917):

Yepppp. But I'm also pretty sure that I accidentally texted my fuck-buddy saying I want to fuck someone else.

(646):

Okay you have to tell me who this guy is.

(917):

Babe, I think I just did it again.

(646):

And again. Call me when you get to your senses.

(917):

Why are you still texting me? You should be busy sucking my dick right now.

(507):

What the fuck?

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(917):

I know why you left me in my dorm room. You think I'm the drunken crazy girl. Well, here's some news for you missy, I am not some drunken crazy girl. I'm just a crazy girl who's drunk. Hahaha. Get it? Hahahahahahahaha.

(787):

Just go to sleep.

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(917):

Does Eric hate me?

(507):

Well you did tell him to suck your dick. And I hear from five different sources that you told him multiple times that you wanted to have sex with some random bartender.

(515):

No babe, of course he doesn't. It doesn't even matter anyway. People in Africa are dying from starvation.

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That was about it.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

I kind of had a crush on my fuck-buddy that was the size of the current headache in my head. The bartender was just some random cute guy you see and go on about when you're drunk. Because that's what you do when you're drunk: talk bullshit. I have no idea who said people tell the truth when they're drunk but that person was probably pretty drunk while saying it because my dear friends, that's a huge lie. Speaking from experience, my own and other peoples', people usually tend to talk about the most random unimportant crap when they're drunk as opposed to sharing deep-seated thoughts and feelings.

But I don't think Eric knew that. And I couldn't ever tell him because we'd set the rules from the beginning and emotional involvement was simply not in the process.

My phone beeped again.

(646):

I don't think I can do this anymore.

Did he just break off our non-existence relationship?

I was not going to be a needy-clingy twenties heroine. I was going to do what every mature twenty-first century college girl did.

(917):

Suck my dick, bitch.

I shut my phone and felt tears well up. This wasn't right. I wasn't supposed to be caring this much. Or at all. We'd only been doing this for four months now and we had already pre-set the rules. At any point either of us wanted to bail out of this, it was over.

He'd probably met someone else who he'd actually want to make the effort to commit to. I was obviously not worth it. After all, I was just some trashy –

BEEP!

(646):

Oh my god, are you still drinking? Okay, when you sober up, do you want to maybe consider the possibility of a relationship? You know, with me? I mean, I get it, I'm no fancy bartender but I do like you very, very much.

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A/N: Thanks for reading my work of fiction intertwined with tiny moments from my life as a freshman at a college in America. No, not the actual story, just some random stuff I won't elaborate lol.