Drunk dialing is never a good thing for dating or in any situation, no exceptions. I’m still waiting for some 15-year old computer super genius to create the “Breathalyzer app” that only allows me (and the rest of the 20 something population) the privilege of operating my iPhone only if I blow within the legal limit. I am a firm believer that if I cannot legally drive a car, I should not be legally allowed to call or text anyone.
While a late night drive-through or the DiGiorno in my freezer usually consumes my thoughts as my friends and I leave the bars on a Saturday night, I often find 1 AM (or 4 AM east coast time) is the perfect opportunity to check up on old friends. Usually I get a loving grunt followed by a dial tone, but on certain occasions, this sneaky little feeling urges me to just, you know, “check-up”, on my ex-boy. And what every human knows about drunk dialing is that it is intended somehow boost your ego and sounds like a crappy Mariah Carey song.
When it comes to dealing with exes, I have to give Taylor Swift a lot of credit. Do I think she is a little bit crazy when it comes to guys? Yes. Do I applaud her for the sweet revenge she inflicts on men who have done her wrong? Of course! But Taylor and I can both agree that calling your ex at 2:19 AM on a Saturday only to hear “leave a message at the beep,” does not send the message that your dating life is thriving. Neither does howling “We are never, ever, ever getting back together… Like ever” at the top of your lungs while his answer machine records it. My siren like ability to mimic William Hung probably persuaded him to believe I’m the one who got away, in the same world that Kim Kardashian stars in Zero Dark Thirty.
That being said, I do applaud myself because I find the thought of someone waking up to my rendition of Taylor Swift pretty funny. Taylor beats every single man who has done her wrong by default because her songs are so damn catchy. I, like Taylor, believe the best revenge is knowing that your heartbreaking, man-whore of an ex, is probably humming that very song for the next three days.
I admit, that my actions are those of a sixteen-year-old girl, but in this new age of social media, accessibility and the instantaneous ability to connect with someone, all bets are off.
So I urge Congress to act now and act quickly. Put a ban on texting after a few drinks. Create a special op force to ask us, “Do you really want to do this”. I fear the future population. No, seriously, I fear that we will not have a future population because of social media. Whether it’s unflattering “selfsies” on Snap Chat or the fact that all of us look way more attractive after photo shopping our pictures on three different apps before the final one appears on Instagram, we as a population are doomed. So what did I take away from all of this? One, to put a passcode on my phone, and two, that we are never, ever, ever, getting back together.
Libby’s Guydline #1: Cellphones are a privilege, not a right.