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I Want to Make Love to Srirach or A Cautionary Tale

This is a cautionary tale about writing drunk.

(Not making love to Sriracha. I don’t know what the logistics of that would entail, but let’s assume that we can all agree that’s a terrible and uncomfortable idea, rendering the cautionary tale unnecessary.)

There’s a quote by Ernest Hemingway that’s currently being beaten to death by the internet: “Write drunk, edit sober.” I decided to take this advice to heart and give the inebriated blogging a try. Also, I was drunk and excited about Sriracha. (It really is the shit, you guys.)

The next morning I woke up, refreshed and ready to do my sober editing. I signed into WordPress and read my previous night’s literary offering.

And that’s when I realized that writing drunk is a terrible idea. Drunk me is not insightful or eloquent. Drunk me gets excited about condiments and tries to express myself with run-on sentences and disjointed, meaningless metaphors. Drunk me swears unnecessarily. Remember guys, I write exactly like I talk, which means that drunk me writes exactly like drunk me talks. And drunk me is annoying.

No, the only way that sober me was going to edit this post into anything good was by hitting the Trash button. There was just no rescuing it. But something wouldn’t let me trash it, so I closed out the window and sat on it few days.

Finally, I realized why I’d held on to it. This post has a purpose in life. It wasn’t to amuse or inspire, it was to warn. I love you all too much to watch you kill your own writing careers. This post is the mistake you guys now will never have to make. I take all your drunken literary transgressions onto me with this post, and they are forgiven. I corrected a few spelling mistakes, but otherwise I left it largely unedited in all its rambling ridiculousness. Read it, let the fear trickle down the back of your neck, and tell yourself that you’ll never do something so stupid again.

Friends don’t let friends write drunk. Don’t let this be you.



I Want to Make Love to Sriracha.


Oh my god, you guys!

You guys.

I just discovered the most amazing thing ever.


It’s called Sriracha. And apparently, you can put it on shitty food and it makes it taste delicious.

Okay, so it’s Tuesday night, right? And Kyle and I are drinking. (Don’t ask why, it’s none of your damn business. Besides, what’s wrong with drinking on a Tuesday? And who the fuck are you to judge? Fuck off, we’re awesome.)

So, yeah, we’re drinking. And we decide we want a pizza. So we order a pizza from a local pizza joint. It’s a hole in the wall, but their pizza is usually fucking delicious. Solid decision, right? Except that for whatever reason their pizza sucks tonight. I don’t know, maybe they felt bad for the slow kid that usually puts the pizza boxes together and let him try his hand a making a pie. Or maybe some stoner ordered a cheese pizza and forgot to pick to up, so it was lying around for a while. Whatever the reason, this particular pizza kinda sucked. Which is sad for Stephanie’s.

I tried dumping garlic salt on it, which is my usual method for making lame food awesome. Not so awesome. I mean, it was okay, but not awesome. It was…eh. But then Kyle’s fucking around and the kitchen, and he’s all like, “Oh shit, this shit is the shit!” And I’m like, “What shit’s the shit? Jelly beans?” And he’s like, “No, the Sriracha we bought for tomorrow’s dinner. This shit. It’s the shit.” So I grab me a second slice and sprinkle me some Sriracha on it and plop me down on the couch in front of some Archer.

And you guys? Kyle wasn’t lying. That shit was the shit!

It’s spicy and tangy and sweet all at the same time. This pizza that was previously bland and greasy and somewhat salty was now full of flavor and intrigue and awesome. It was exotic and sassy. It was totally the type of pizza who would seduce me under the moonlight and we’d dance barefoot in the sand and he’d totally call the next day, because he’s a gentleman like that. I tore the shit out of that pizza. I could have eaten half the pizza if my stomach and my dignity didn’t hold me in check.

But now I’m wondering, does Sriracha magic work on everything? Like, if I went to the cupboard right now and got out the saltines, would they taste like delicious with Sriracha? Leftover pasta? Oatmeal? My world is suddenly spilling open with spicy and delicious possibilities, just waiting to be devoured. Where do the limits of Sriracha’s magic lie, and how far to I have to travel to reach them?

I don’t know. But I intend to find out.

{ 5 comments… add one }
  • Kate May 26, 2012, 12:47 pm

    Okay, first. I am totally in love with drunk Stephanie and want to be her friend. She’s hilarious and won’t be offended by my incredibly [sober] foul mouth.
    Second, sriracha IS the shit. And it is fantastic with nearly all foods. We put it on pizza, on eggs, we cook Raman noodles and use sriracha instead of those disgusting “flavour” packets, we toss it on sushi we make, with fried chicken, all sorts of delicious concoctions are available to you with the wonder of sriracha.

    • Monster May 27, 2012, 7:51 am

      The difference between drunk Stephanie and sober Stephanie is not the lack and presence of profanity. The difference is that drunk Stephanie inserts curse words when it’s not even grammatically correct.

      And we can totally be friends, drunk AND sober.

  • Christine May 27, 2012, 8:56 am

    Drunk Stephanie is still a better writer than most sober people.

  • Keely May 28, 2012, 7:40 pm

    Yes, but is it made out of roosters? Drunk Stephanie should find out.

  • Charm City Kim June 4, 2012, 6:34 am

    I feel so lame but I am not the biggest fan of siracha. Your drunken ode to the sauce, however, has me reconsidering.

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