OVERHEARD IN MY LIVING ROOM

I will take a shot for every person who buys my book. I may be mildly buzzed, but I’ll still probably be able to drive home.

Aww, I hope you die of alcohol poisoning.

Awwwwww, you’re sweet!

A few times I have had to raise my voice, and it only makes me want to start drinking.

Andre: the beer of champagne.

You can skip past my beer thoughts.

I would rather drink boxed wine than make decisions.

What do you want me to do besides drink?

Is she having a bad time?

No, she just likes liquor.

Here’s the thing. It’s not that I drink “too much” — I’m not drunk, when I fall asleep at bars. I’m just really fucking tired.

It would be nice if I didn’t have to search for you in bathrooms anymore.

I’m going to get him hammered on blackberry brandy. Secretly.

I like my drinks like I like my food: fighting back.

The last time I saw you, you were yelling at a garbage.

Well, I know vermouth is a thing…

Do you now.

I was going to tell you, but you were on the phone, that I kind of drank most of the whiskey.

I’m just gonna be drunk at home doing laundry.

Are you trying to make yourself barf? Are you drinking Makers and wine?

This is going to be a rough whiskey drink with only like two ice cubes.

There are five.

Shut up.

Oh my gosh, I can’t find my bag.

Do you need more vodka?

Do we need to f*ck with jackets?

I’ve had enough vodka where I should be fine.

Not wasted. Somewhere between jolly buzzed and fantastical.

You smell like whiskey.

I feel like whiskey.