We all have that friend we love to hate and hate to love.
She dances on tables, barely qualifies as a functioning human being and always loses her f**king phone NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU TELL HER THAT A BRA STRAP IS NOT THE SAME THING AS A POCKET.
She's your hot mess friend. And she's here to stay.
I may be comparatively more responsible, but I somehow always end up right next to my hot mess friend when she's prowling the bar like an inebriated lion. The bartender might be able to ignore us individually, but together we are unstoppable. It's because of her that I now understand why solitary confinement is a thing.
But whether I want to admit it or not, my hot mess friend keeps me young. And, at the end of the day, she'll always be in my corner, even when it's the dingy corner of our local police department's drunk tank.
To my hot mess friend, this is why I simultaneously love you and hate you.
You know how to turn a girls' night into the party everyone talks about.
When I'm in the mood for a quiet night in, you wholeheartedly agree. Next thing I know, strangers are filing in, the music is blaring and people are grinding on each other.
I'm left with no choice but to roll with the punches. Somehow, in between dodging your weird guy friend that always hits on me, I manage to have a good time.
You find a way to get me wasted when I insist I'm not drinking.
Even when I fight the good fight, I know I'll inevitably cave and join you at the bar. There's NO denying our ability to procure a steady stream of alcohol.
But we are the self-proclaimed 'weird twins' for a reason: Things tend to get weirder as the night devolves.
What ensues on most of our nights out might as well be ripped from the pages of a Shakespearean tragedy. (Did Jell-O shots exist in the 16th century?) Just when I'm starting to get lit, you're puking rainbow-colored vomit that I'm trying to clean up using two damp cocktail napkins and a maxi pad I paid 25 cents for in the bathroom. We all have our crosses to bear, I suppose, and you are mine.
You don't know what you're doing with your life, but you have a good time figuring it out.
Even though you should really slow the hell down on partying, you just can't be bothered. And don't even get me started on the fact that I work so hard while everything seems so easy for you.
I guess I'm a little jealous of that devil-may-care attitude. But deep down I know I should take a page out of your book because you always open me up. You may not have a clue what's coming next, but you never worry. You go, Glen Coco!
You're a total disaster, but you're an amazing friend.
You truly are a hot mess, emphasis on the 'mess' part. Two out of every three times we hang out, you smell so strongly of vodka I'm pretty sure you'd catch fire if someone lit a match.
But you're a work in progress. And, TBH, those who live in glass houses (made of vodka bottles) shouldn't throw stones. What really matters is that you're loyal AF, and I know I can always count on you (until you start doing tequila shots, at least). It's crazy to think that you'd be even more reliable if you would just stop losing your f**king phone all the F**KING TIME.
I know it won't happen, but a girl can dream.
You act like a lunatic, but you end up having the greatest stories.
You spiral out of control so quickly. I don't even know how it happens. One minute, you're feeling great, dancing and turning up. The next, we're on all fours outside the bar we just got kicked out of, searching blindly for your earrings and wallet. Every time I notice the scars on my knees, I wistfully think of you and smile.
But no one could ever accuse us of having a bad time, amiright? All of my favorite memories are with you. And, when push comes to shove, my love for you outweighs my fear of contracting a communicable disease from some dirty sidewalk. Most of the time, at least.
I hope my good judgment is rubbing off on you, but you're rubbing off on me, too.
Do I resent having to babysit someone who bizarrely acts like both an adult and an infant simultaneously? You bet. But will I ever leave your sloppy ass? Yeah, but only for something really, really important, or if, like, my life is in danger.
You KNOW I'll be there to help you maneuver out of whatever trouble you've gotten your crazy self into. And I know you'll always be there to show me that sometimes a little trouble can be fun.
You're such a hot mess. But I love you so much more than I hate you. Most of the time. Or at least a slim majority of the time. Definitely more than 50 percent of the time.
No girl's life would be complete with her hot mess friend. She may not have her life together, but she'll be there for you when it counts. Catch new episodes of Idiotsitter on Thursdays (TONIGHT) at 10:30/9:30c on Comedy Central or anytime on the CC app.