So seeing that this last weekend I had where I managed to lose two pairs of shoes, my car (don’t worry I don’t drink and drive), my keys, my phone, and possibly a bit of dignity (all of which were recovered on Sunday), here’s a good ol’ post of another time that I drank copious amounts of alcohol to entertain not I, but you.. If you don’t enjoy it, it’s probably because you did something similar and aren’t quite ready to accept the fact that it’s most likely to happen again.
Once upon a time, I was a young pup that enjoyed the clubs on a Friday and Saturday over bonfires and BBQ’s. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not OLD…I just have a few different priorities when it comes to how I spend my time drinking. So this fun little night, my sister and I went out to do some dancing and drinking. This turned into this shithead (oh that’s me..on the left) turning just a little classy to trashy in my lovely off white dress and heels and figured it was time to grab a cab home.
As we’re leaving, my sister gets caught up with someone in the club so I thought it best to wait outside for her, when BAM! Smokie stand. That smelllllll. Ok. I have $5.00. Smokie is about to be in and around my mouth. Happening. So after paying for this fucking thing, I pull off a good ol’ standing stumble and I watch as this smokie slides out of the bun and rolls onto main street. Downtown Winnipeg. Uh…ew right..(not at the time it wasn’t). The lack of sanitariness that comes in the next sentence or two is around a 2 out of 10. My dilemma: No more money and now no more smokie. But..I’m a fan of problem solving and a 5 second rule that can turn into 10. So I picked that mother fucker up, blew on it to get the cocaine and cigarette dust off it, slapped a shit ton of mayo and onions on it and I was fucking golden.
My lovely sister is looking for me but I’m tucked away in a corner probably looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame fully invested in devouring this thing, and I spot her talking to the cops. (HOORAY!!!) So I walk over, lean on one of the uniformed men to prevent myself from falling, and ask him if he wants a bite. He politely declined, so naturally, I polished the rest off. They were making good natured banter until I thought it best to relieve myself of the question/educated guess burning up in my brain: one of these crime fighters’ ethnicity. I was wrong on the hypothesis. He was mad. Was that the Italian in him? Honestly not quite sure but asking him that wasn’t the best idea either (bit of a racist crime fighter if I might add). He told us to get a fucking cab. The other cop was doubled over laughing. We got a cab, as I didn’t need a drunk tank when I have a perfectly made up bed to go home to. I waved goodbye, and received one wave back, and I took it as a ‘you win some, you lose some’ type deal.
I could go on with impromptu tambourine playing for a band (not just me out of my friends that do this), launching a birthday cake at a garage wall (missed the target of a friend who covered my face in icing), waking up on my bed hiding underneath a newspaper tent, running up on stage at a Hayes Carll concert, or drinking champagne at 7 am on a highway to celebrate life. But I don’t need people thinking I have no pride. So when you wake up on a Sunday, ashamed of your activities from the night(s) before, just remember, we’ve all been there. If it’s too upsetting, make friends with people that drink so much they could kill a hypothetical small child. Everyone will forget about your poor life choices in about a week. Maybe less. Thirsty Thursday is around the corner.