Burning Bridges

I need to contact a doctor to have my thumbs cut off. I really think it will be the only way to save face at all during a night of serious drinking. Friday night a few of my girlfriends and I decided we were going to go out and paint the town red. Great idea, so I thought. We started the evening with a few glasses of wine, which quickly became drinking straight out of the wine bottle. Classy I know. I then spilled red wine on my white shirt. I should have know then that the night was going to be horrific. After wine the Captain called and I answered. Had a shot of that. We then went to the first bar which consisted of a mix of frat and douche. To spice things up as if I wasn't already spiced, I had a shot of Patron. I fucking hate tequila so I have no idea where this urge came from. I'm blaming the captain. Stay at douch central for a few then went down to my local watering hole. Now mind you I was already fucked up at this point and should have went home and put myself to bed...but what fun would that be.
At the watering hole I drank 2 tall cans and had another shot of some fruity large thing. It was beat and I did not need it. What happened next happens to all us girls at one point or another while we are painting the town red. I sent the drunk text. No biggie except I sent it to Flame. UGH. As if I haven't fucked with his head enough right. The breezy text was sent at 1am. Wonder what I was thinking about. Without completely reliving the horror, I asked him to come hang out, he declined, I insisted, he declined, I then said "you know it will be a good time", no reponse, I then asked again, and he wrote "why?"
So embarassing I want to die. But of course, I need to make everything right and I sent him a text yesterday to which he did not respond. I feel really excellent about this. If it was anyone else, who cares. BUT I worked really hard to file this relationship of sorts under friendship and rebuild the bridge that I not only burned but blew up just to lose it all to a few shots and some tall cans. A small side note that need be noted, while leaving the bar I barfed in the cab on the way home. I am one classy bitch.