Open Letter to My Dignity On the Milk Carton

Dear Dignity,

It became clear to me and everyone else in attendance that you were nowhere to be found when I shored up enough drunken glazed over acumen to destroy reputations made of steel.

Your vicious and abrupt departure over the weekend made me think I did something wrong to you. I understand that you and my sense of humor never really saw eye-to-eye but that's no excuse for you to completely abandon me the ENTIRE day. As a result I've become highly susceptible to the sharp and painful feeling that stems from the consciousness of something ridiculously stupid.

I feel like you're never there when I need you the most. And I read your note you left on my face (next to the penis someone drew in sharpie marker) that you'll always be there for me no matter what, but I'm fairly certain that's not true. All I ever wanted from you was companionship and you leave me at the worst possible time just before I toss judgment, logic and decency out the window without thinking twice.

Deciding to wear a teabag costume was just the beginning of it all, too. The moment I put the costume on I noticed you walking away, and that was an indication of what was to come. The more drinks I guzzled, the more you began to fade. The more fearless I grew, the less I knew you had my back.

It's typically not my style to not focus all my energy into you but you weren't paying any attention to me, and humiliation was all about me. Humiliation is only fun in doses though, and is a lot like Saran wrap. Far too clingy.

Fuck, Dignity, I thought we had something truly special that could withstand the test of shame.

I'm sure you've heard the news by now, among your moral and upright circle of virtuous friends. Since you left me, it's safe to say I kinda let myself go. After spending the whole day tailgating, getting heavily sauced, sloshed, and pummeled by rigorous drinking efforts, I was rewarded with the title of 'Out of Control' and this made me incredibly entertaining, nonetheless, the gadonkadonk of all jokes.

If I wasn't getting scoffed at for my indecent conduct and behavior, I was watching myself unfold as a poorly assembled work of irony, straight from IKEA. All general inquiries about the night provided some sort of recap that involved the words "JJ" and "insane" and "hilarious". This is not the sort of recognition I seek.

Because you are no longer in my life, Dignity, I was able to freely approach girls with no regret, shame or tact and purposefully ask them why they are checking out my package, when indeed, they were not.

And again, your void has made it all possible for me to follow a girls confused inquiry with complete and utter nonsense. For example, when a girl said she had no idea what I was talking about, I felt obliged to remove my pants completely, toss them into a bush, dance incredibly sexy Patrick Swayzee circles around her and ask if she had any biscuits.

Tossing my pants into a bush is the ultimate signifier that you truly aren't ever there when I need you, Dignity. That would have been a good time for you to come back and cuddle. That's when it all went downhill however.

During some point - likely between talking to Sarah Palin and the slutty water hose girl - I decided it was time to stop the party and command everyone's attention to inform them about the terribly tight tights I was wearing. You not being in my life anymore, Dignity means I'm of the attention whore persuasion now.

Someone suggested that I put my pants back on and I instinctively said, "Only if you promise to come to my tea party dumb-dumb." Dignity, you never allow me to say such horrendous and effeminately gay retorts which are about as funny as a bank statement showing depleted funds.

The camera came out, and since I have an overwhelming desire to capture my legendary moments that are anything but dope, I embrace the opportunity to be tagged all over Facebook as if it were my job to court embarrassing, slipshod and atrocious poses that act as evidence that I was not OK. I only embrace these moments because you are no longer with me, Dignity.

It used to be fairly simple. I leave my house with you and I always returned with you. Now I wrestle with an unabashed sense of deplorable folly every time I pick up a phone. I shudder to think about the high amount of 'oops' texts I've had to compose the following morning, not to mention the face-to-face explanations as to why I called someone at 5 a.m. to discuss fantasy football and candy corn with someone who has zero interest in participating in the conversation.

When I asked for a ride home over the weekend, and discovered that I had lost my keys and my roommate was not home, I had the wherewithal to say, 'I'm screwed' but reaching all-time lows comes with the territory I suspect. After being told I can fend for myself at 5 a.m. outside of my apartment, I knew there was only one thing to do: Retire to the ground, still in my teabag costume. I stumbled, staggered, slouched and then collapsed slowly to the ground, working relentlessly to find the most comfortable position a teabag affords.

And then the bright sun hit me in the face and I hear loud cackling. I open my eyes and see neighbors laughing, saying, 'It's a drunken teabag' and I couldn't even muster up the energy to smile. I was a human wreck and I had to be at work at 10 a.m., but of course I didn't have my car.

Dignity, you totally would have given me a ride, to someone's couch, to work or even to a hotel room. But sadly, you were nowhere to be found. Missing.

Because of the nature of the situation, I had to appear to work still in my costume and I had to explain in great detail my amazing level of stupidness. And to add insult to injury, since my bike was at work, and it was my only way back, I had to ride it home with my costume on. The honks from drivers confirmed that I was not discreet either.

Look, Dignity, I miss you and I care about you. I want you back in my life because I feel like without you I will create far too much fodder for people to talk about. I will be tagged on Facebook with such force that my children will find it difficult to get a job.

I don't want to stalk you in that creepy, you broke-my-heart-now-I'm-going-to-break-your-face kind of way. I have never been on this side of the street since usually I'm always the one that decides when it's over. I'm begging you though, Dignity, consider what we've been through and I feel you owe it to me to at least call or hang out with me every once in a while. Remind me what it feels like to stand tall and oversee everyone else with a slight superior complex.

You're not picking up my calls and I've left countless messages, but I just want you to know one thing, Dignity, I've put a lot of time and effort into our relationship. I don't want to see it end like this. I'm sorry for anything I may have done that I'm not aware of, but come back. My reputation, self-esteem and membership to being a cunning individual is at jeopardy.

Think about it. Call me.

Sincerely,

-- Teabag tendencies