Dear Alcoholic Self,

Before I begin this letter, I would like to ask you a simple question: who told that girl at the party we liked Ricky Martin? We do not like Ricky Martin. You, specifically, and only you, enjoy his post-menudo work. Now to being in earnest, I would like to berate you for not only throwing up everywhere, but for completely ruining my chances of ever having a second date with Karen. How did you even find us? We were at a coffee shop for god's sake, talking about books. So what if I did a few shots before hand to not feel nervous? That doesn't mean you have to show up and completely hog the spotlight. She was talking about herself incessantly, and maybe it was a little boring, but you didn't have to tell her that it was boring. She was just going on and on, we could've rode the "daddy doesn't love me" train straight to ass central station! But no, you had to go and grope her across the table, spill espresso on my new micro-fiber khakis, and confirm the reputation that dogs me to whatever sorority house I visit. You are trying to ruin me, and I simply won't let it happen. The next time I go out, you either stay at home or find yourself some other party to go to, because I am not going with you.

Pissed,
Non-Alcoholic Self

Dear Non-Alcoholic Self,

First off, I don't remember any of these alleged events that you claim were my responsibility. Secondly, aren't you the one who always says, ˜I can't not be honest' whenever you talk to our mom? I find it hard to believe that I am the true cause of any of these actions, for as we both know, I am perfect gentleman around company, and you only see me acting like a ruffian when I'm doubled over our toilet or someone else's sink/bathtub/favorite pair of furry slippers. And who sees me like that? Maybe it's the girl i just banged, but note the use of the past tense. What have you done lately for us, I might ask? Have you put any verbs involving suggestive and coarse acts into the past tense in the last week? Everytime I go to a party with you, Mr. propriety, I find myself off with a bunch of guys, talking about books, or music, or cultured nonsense and listening to you trying to validate your intelligence with a bunch of shy and insecure men. I include you among their ranks on most evenings, luckily I show up in time to save you from permanently enlisting with them. I would appreciate a little more gratitude in the future. And you totally said you liked Ricky Martin, dude. That was not me at all.

Cordially yours,
Alcoholic Self

Dear Alcoholic Self,

You are a liar when you're sober (if you ever are) and a filthy cheat when you're not. The last girl I woke up to kept asking me to show her wrestling moves. I didn't have any clue what she was talking about so I just threw her around a little, figuring she liked that kind of thing. But as it turns out, you told her I was the number one wrestler in Michigan. Since when are we even from Michigan? Have you even seen Michigan? I did, when I visited when I was 12, before you were even around. So it seems that somehow, while talking to you, she had gotten the distinct impression that not only we were Michigan natives, but that we were Jewish, and were looking for a serious relationship. Now if this is what you do to get us laid, then I am extremely baffled as to how it is any better than what I do. In fact, I had two girlfriends before we even met each other, so I'm even more curious as to how I owe you any gratitude whatsoever. And for the last time, there is no way in Hell I would ever tell a girl I like Ricky Martin. And I don't actually like him, you're the one that does and covers it up. I see you dancing to Bailamos sometimes when I'm not paying attention.

Die,
Non-Alcoholic Self

Dear Non-Alcoholic Self,

You know what? Fine. Next time I'm at a party, we're gonna do six shots off the bat and see who can get a girl first. And you know what else? Enrique Inglesias sings Bailamous, dick.

Choke on your self-righteous bullshit,
Alcoholic Self