Photo by Carlos Saldivia / CC 2.0
Hey, Tiffany! Thanks so much for the invite to your birthday BYO this weekend. I can’t wait for forced interactions with people I barely know, sprinkled with some painfully awkward conversations about how we know you. Should be a fun time!
I’m especially excited for the boat races—boy, do I love participating in dangerously-rapid alcohol consumption! But, speaking of which, I just have a super quick and easy request: could you maybe not bring Sunset Blush? I’m fine choking down any other flavor of Franzia (or, even better, Carlo Rossi) but I really, truly cannot take one more sip of the devil’s nectar. (Actually, I’m not a huge fan of Chillable Red either.)
But back to Sunset Blush: to be quite frank, this shit tastes like my vomit. Countless times have I gazed into a toilet bowl, my sad, teary-eyed, hot mess reflection staring back at me, with the burn of bagged rosé in my throat and pale pink nastiness in front of me. One too many Ken’s Seafood trips during my freshman year have, in short, done me dirty. I refuse to continue treating my body like a garbage disposal.Read the Full Article