We’ve all been guilty of booty calling. Or maybe not, but your day of shame will come, young grasshopper. “Hey, what are you doing,” “Where are you?” “Wanna hang?” all sound innocent … unless of course it’s 3 a.m. Answering the booty call is always awkward as shit. Here’s where the truth just doesn’t work: “Uhhh, nothing … sleeping in my bed like a normal person” or “Oh, you know, at home, ‘cause I clearly can’t rage as hard as you.”

But this isn’t about the art of booty calling, oh no, this is about the ultimate booty call fails. Word to the wise, your new iPhone is cool as shit and Siri’s like such a betch, but when you mass text now, people know. Rock, paper, scissors takes on a whole new meaning when you send out the same message to five different people … who all live together. Shoot.

Ah, the 12 o’clock booty call. I say this for a reason. When the music ordinance takes effect is when it’s a (relatively) reasonable time to start exploring your contact book. If you send out a text and get “I’m eating dinner” in response, then you peaked prematurely, bro.

There’s also that area of your texting history filled with the people that you only text post-10 p.m. And, more or less, send out texts that don’t even make sense half the time. Your drunken alter ego (you know who I’m talking about) is a real dick who totally fucks over normal you. Even if you claim that drunk you is just an enhanced version of normal you, reevaluate how awesome you really are, and take into account that you may or may not be completely batshit crazy.

But you know that awkward moment when you feel like you’ve taken up celibacy as your inadvertent New Year’s resolution? That’s a dangerous moment. That is when you may or may not start booty calling your friends, because you’re calling them anyway, and you’re walkin’ around with a conviction to slay that cannot be matched, and boom. Friend zone has turned to complete and utter shit. Welcome to the “I’ve seen you naked and can fully access this image in my mind whenever I want to” zone.

The awkward conversation that goes down in the morning when you’ve hooked up with one of your friends is horrendous. “So what are you doing today?” “Probably going home and showering and um, hanging out here.” Because shit, all of a sudden you realize that you spend 98 percent of your time with this person and you’re fucked. Literally and freshly. See you later/tonight/at that party/in class/for that dinner I planned to cook you before I knew we were going to wrestle naked. Yeah. Hashtag that shit.

The other horrible forced booty call is when all of a sudden at 1:49 in the morning you remember you left a ladle or something equally as useless at someone’s house that you’re trying to hook up with. All of a sudden it’s as if the world will stop turning if you can’t make a very complicated (from scratch) soup recipe rightfuckingnow. If you finally convince them to let your drunk ass into their house, be prepared to be shown the door and to please walk out it so that you don’t become a stage five lingerer. If they saw this opportunity in the same way you did, they probably would’ve made a really bad sexual joke with the word ladle in it. God, I really wish I didn’t pick ladle for this example.

Everyone loves receiving booty calls for the same reason: the predictability of seeing that name flash on your screen and (regardless of the gender) thinking, “Ha. This bitch.” Tell me that’s not the first thought that pops into your head. Get at me, bro.

Just make sure not to train your tired fingers to text back “I’m down” as your go-to late night response. While this may be appropriate when hitting up late night nachos (which is also not the greatest idea), there’s nothing worse than falling back to sleep and finding out the next morning that your booty caller showed up and you were passed the fuck out.

Be wary of making the mistake of not checking to make sure you have all of the necessary words in your text. Response to a joke: Are you fucking with me right now? Take out the word “with”, and, well … Shit. Just. Got. Weird.

And finally, always keep in mind that everything in I.V. tends to come full circle. With house hunting going on, you never know if your booty call may end up moving in next door.

Daily Nexus sex columnist Elizabeth Brooks says there are exceptions to the post-10 p.m. rule of thumb:. Namely Extravaganza and Floatopia, where the drunk texting grace period begins at 11 a.m. and continues through the following day.