I left an (expensive, 5-minute) message on his voicemail. The entire time I was speaking, my friend’s voice hung over my shoulder like she was the human delegate for my conscience. “You’re going to regret this,” she said a quarter concerned and three quarters drunk. I laughed off her warnings and continued to exude the very opposite to class, mysteriousness and sexiness over the phone. I regret it now because he’s going to think I’m an alcoholic. Not only that, he’s going to think I’m a smitten puppy and he’s my dog food. Ugh. I hate that I have no sense of shame when I’m drunk. I do however like that I have the exceptional ability to speak Tagalog when I’m drunk. When sober, I can barely utter “kumusta” without sounding like some linguistically challenged buffoon.