Weapon of Mass Embarrasment

DUI, or dialing under the influence, has made of the telephone a weapon of mass embarrassment. Not to be confused with phone sex -- it is the safest, most practical way to make a complete ass out of yourself while spilling your guts, without the added concern of spilling any bodily fluids.

When two mutually consenting adults practice DUI, it's a beautiful thing. Long harangues shared between blithering idiots -- lengthy conversations that will soon be forgotten -- are perhaps the very marvel of advanced communication Alexander Graham Bell dreamed about when he invented the telephone.

To be sure, even Darwin must have pondered how a human being can possibly remember phone numbers and carry on a conversation in a state of inebriation. Though it defies all scientific reasoning, this uniquely human capacity is perhaps the missing evolutionary link between homo sapiens and a chimpanzee. In a spell of thousands of years, we evolved from lice-picking, breast-thumping "oooo oooo aaaa aaaa" to "uh, like I'm so fucked up, dude, let me call my ex, man." Oh, come on, admit it. We're still a bunch a monkeys.

For instance, one night I was expecting my ex-boyfriend, Mr. Think-He's-Huge, to pay a visit and as usual he was late. I remember drunk dialing him, promising nothing short of Manola Gone Wild.

But ex-boyfriend's real name starts with R, and so does an old friend's. And wouldn't you know it, they're side by side on the contacts menu -- both potential victims lying dormant. A far worse fate, however, awaited Old Friend, who wasn't even going to get laid. The drunk dialing bomb exploded and little bits of unwanted verbal shrapnel ended up on his answering machine.

Next day, Old Friend called and said, "uh Manola, I think you meant someone else? It was nice to hear, though. Wish my wife talked like that!"

Curiously enough, long after my phone pas, same Old Friend drunk dialed me. Hammered as a nail, he asked me if I was willing to work for a couple who wanted a female to videotape them during sex. "I don't mean any disrespect," he said "but I thought you might be interested." And then, he proceeded to confess feelings that have been surfacing every now and then during our friendship of many, many years, feelings which, I am certain -- and with all due respect -- were influenced by several rum and cokes.

Next conversation, I told Old Friend: "What were you thinking? You KNOW me. Even if they paid me a million bucks, how the hell would I keep a straight face?"

Even people I haven't met personally have performed the dialing game on my unsuspecting phone. A new friend of mine -- a young lusty fella whom I'll call Wild Man, who lives in another state and whom I met in the hazy maze of blogger -- claims that he is the most boring man on the phone without a little ammunition. Perhaps he is referring to the universal social lubricant, vodka, which this old caboose doesn't really need to enjoy a good talk. Maybe he's a little shy? Well, that's another story.

This weekend, Wild Man left me a most saucy message. He'd been thinking a lot about me lately. I was regaled with compliments about my unbelievable gorgeous legs and how he desired nothing more than to lick them from ankle to thigh. The pleading voice kept begging: "Oh my god, you are so hot! SO hot! You are SO fucking hot!"

Click went the receiver. And "WHAT THE FUCK?" went me. After several playbacks and a thorough voice analysis as keen as any FBI agent's, I just knew this wasn't my Wild Man, because he has a quite a sexy baritone voice and this fella was nearly squeaky.

The mystery was later resolved. I called Wild Man, and although he was shit-faced, he confirmed that he had indeed handed his mobile phone to a friend. And unknown alleged hot chick, poor thing -- the one with the legs that launched a thousand slips of the tongue -- missed her would-be lover's most delicate, poetic message.

Apparently, this phenomenon is universal and not limited to dialing. Technology now allows us the moronic pleasure of drunk text messaging. Worse yet, some mobile phone owners actually have a chronic, socially disturbing drunk dialing problem -- they will dial every number on their phone, including the mother-in-law's or the boss's -- until someone answers. Now even a chimpanzee would know better that to call your boss when you're peloothered. The few tamer souls I know do have a method to their madness. We only call the unfortunate love dregs of our past or the romantic interests of the present, but NEVER a relative or a the person who signs our paychecks.

If you have a chronic drunk dialing problem, take preventive measures. I mean you don't ever forget your cab fare, condoms and cigarettes, do you? Instead of calling the boss, feel free to dial Slacker Town and give the world a good laugh!

Cheers,

Manola B