Franzcia Fiasco.

Never drink wine out of a box. You will regret it.

I don't know why the term "Wine from a Box" wasn't a clear enough indicator for me.

It tasted like nail polish remover or paint thinner and was as clear as water.

YOWSAS.

The results of this mistake involved calling the boy that I have been in love with for the past 2.5 years, who hasn't come out of the closet yet, but is very much a homosexual, and telling him that I am perfect for him, and the sooner he realizes that he is supposed to be with me, the better. Oh yeah. That happened. I also told him that the girl he was interested in was heinous (she totally isn't the most attractive thing, but I am sure she has a great personality, and I shouldn't have said anything anyways) and that she was a "beard". If you are someone who is wondering what a beard is (Nana Sherrell, if you are reading this, pay attention), beard is a term used to refer to a girl who is used by a closeted homosexual man, to make it appear as if he is really into women. When, in fact, he is only thinking about one thing..mmhmmm..

While talking to him and calling him all sorts of terrible names that he kinda of deserved, I was walking around my neighborhood. BAD IDEA. I started talking to my neighbor that I have never met. She told me if I saw her brother Christopher, to let him know that Mr. Mungo (which I assume is her cat) got home safely. PS I have never met this woman before, and here she is telling me to look for her brother and tell him her cat got home safely. Bitch, it is 11pm, and I am talking to my love interest, I don't give a damn about Mr. Mungo!

Ugh. Then I proceeded to lay down in our hammock in the backyard, this should go with out saying, don't get drunk and get in a hammock. I thought I fractured my skull, no worries, it is ok. I hung up with "him" and felt so sad because he is in such denial, and it haunts me to think that he is so perfect and won't tell me he loves me blah blah blah (this is, keep in mind, heightened emotions due to the Franzcia Refreshing White Wine, and always laugh at the people who do this sober). So what do I do? Call my mother. After leaving a hysterical message on her phone for a good 13 minutes I went to bed. I wake up at 6 craving a caffeine.

I then got in my car and drive to Jack in the Box, which is only a block away, and demand a large coke. Well, this bitch gives me a Diet Coke. And while I love Diet Coke, that is not what I asked for. So I put LaRhetta in reverse and got through that drive thru backwards, tap on the glass, and tell her in SPANISH this time, REGULAR COKE, GRANDE, POR FAVOR. I make it home and get ready for work.

All day I continued to feel HORRIBLE. The worst hangover ever, all because of this damn box of wine.

Moral of Story: Boxed wine should only be consumed by women who live in Reno, who bet all their money on the penny slots and wear shiny gold pants and Donnie and Marie Tour T-Shirts, or by kids in high school who will drink anything as long as they can fit in at "that party".

Just saying..

Love Y'allllll!
xo
Willyummm