You seriously don’t remember last night? Jesus, it was fucking crazy as shit. Yeah you did drink a ton; it figures you would have large swaths of time missing from your memory. So you don’t remember grinding up on the one in the glasses? You know, the skinnier one with the stocking cap on. I’m assuming that’s how he ended up back at our hotel room. I mean okay, a whole bunch of people were grinding up on him on stage, but he didn’t end up back in their hotel room, did he?! Booyah!
So then you probably don’t remember the conversation about Fran Drescher, do you. It doesn’t matter, it’s out of context now. Shortly after your fifth Karkov/Hot 100 shot, you somersaulted across both beds and vaulted yourself into the wall. No big deal, room wasn’t on my credit card anyway. I’m just saying, that’s where the bruises came from. Do you know where the weed ended up? Last I remember one of the band members had opened the window and was sprinkling it down onto the parking lot and screaming “MAKIN’ IT SNOOOOOW!” which seems like kind of a waste, but whatever.
How about the pool? Ringing any bells? We played chicken atop some handsome men we would eventually spoon. I think you won, if the scratches on my arms are any indication. I did think that outright punching me in the face took it a bit far, however. Listen though, I’m going to need some gas money from you. I know I lent you my car to go on a food run and everything, but the Taco Bell was only about 500 yards away and you came back with three half eaten tacos, a plastic bag full of hot sauce, and an empty gas tank. Where did you go, exactly? And why when you came back did you have a Das Racist shirt on and one shoe missing? We spooned like we figured we would, sandwiched between the aforementioned handsome men, one of whom wanted to make out with you. Or maybe they both did, life’s mysterious that way. You tried to whisper something in my ear but I couldn’t understand your mumbling, then you passed out with your phone on your face. I flicked your ear for a while to see if you were really out.
I thought lighting the curtains on fire was a bit over the top, so I poured the remainder of the Coke Zero on it to douse it. You got mad at me, and said “Stop ruining my fun!” No really, that was you. You lit the curtains on fire. You said you did it because “It’s too fucking cold outside.” Then you and mutual female friend started seeing who could “WOO!” the loudest at the other from across the room. When management knocked to tell us to be quiet, you told her we can’t be quiet because “WE’RE TOO HARDCORE.” She insisted we try anyway.
Do you remember throwing up out the window? Band Member sleepily muttered something like “hey, my weed’s out there…” and then rolled out of bed, losing consciousness again on the floor. Someone texted you from a 151 number. Someone knocked on our door and asked if we’d seen their dog. I decided it was time for me to call it a night when you started dry humping me over the blankets. I woke up at 6:00 to get continental breakfast. Do you remember asking me if I’d always love you? I said “Of course,” and you said, “Shut up, you stupid bitch. You’re lying. Don’t lie to me.”
Seriously? You don’t remember any of this?
–Katie Sisneros is leaving it up to the reader to decide what is true and what is fabricated.