Now that I've wrangled you in with that catchy title, I'm going to shatter your disgusting hopes about this post by saying, I have never actually sold my body for money...although the thought has crossed my mind several times. Especially when I have to pay tuition. But were I to make money off of the porcelain perfection that is my body Id be a stripper, because at least I'd get to choose the music that played in the background of my shame.
So, this night happened a few years ago. I was going through a rough time, and mostly was on a monster bender after a break up (surprise, surprise). I also happened to be on antibiotics for a bronchial infection.
Now kids, there is always the warning on the side of antibiotics that says "do not consume alcohol". Most normal, intelligent, life-loving, and might I add intelligent people follow these directions. They take a few days off, catch up with family, go to sleep early and just generally don't fuck with the World War 4 that is happening in their body.
Not this guy.
No, I was far to deep in my pit of despair to understand the importance of not drinking while taking antibiotics. Instead, I figured I'd go out with a guy friend of mine for drinks in my small town (and by small town I mean really fucking small). So I popped my first antibiotic, with warnings from my mom saying "just don't drink a lot. Seriously". Whatever mom, as if you even know.
I got dressed in a skirt, a slutty tank top, and a nicely conservative sweater over that. I packed my new Marc Jacobs purse (which by the way I had saved up for...all my savings that summer blown on one purse. Bye bye food for the school year).
As I was leaving, my mom once again reminded me "Amber, seriously don't drink to much, the bottle says you shouldn't" I looked at her and said "Seriously mom I never drink to much, so I will probably fine" Famous last words my friends.
I pulled into the first bar of our night (yes there were several after) with thoughts of one drink and done. Now I have to explain that my friend was like 6'5 and pretty muscular. I ordered my first and it went down like apple juice. That's probably because I'm an alcoholic. No just kidding. I wasn't... at that time at least. But I digress.
As you all already know, I gain an overinflated sense of my ability to do anything once I've had one drink. Well as usual, I just assumed I could keep up with my friend, DRINK FOR DRINK. I mean being 5'4 and a light weight totally equates to a strong ability to hold my liquor.
It actually doesn't. Do the math folks.
And so we drank. I made grand statements about my ability to down cider, as I often do. I can't remember how many drinks I had at that first bar. I'm going to go with 3. At least. Thats being lenient.
Now the beautiful thing about antibiotics is they have built in dumb-ass sensors. At this point my head got all weird. I felt like I was in some strange 70's music video. It should've been at this point that I said to myself "Amber, heres the one drink you said you would have and heres the 8 drinks that will land you in that gutter over there". But I didn't. I just followed my friend over to the bar across the street. (Our town has a lot of cowboys in it, therefore it has a lot of alcohol in it to).
We entered the bar. Music was playing, it was mostly empty except for some of my friends friends. Who also happened to know my brother. They were all the same age. So here I was, an opportunity to impress all the people that I had tried to impress in a training bra and braces. My time had come to show them how cool, just like my brother, I really was.
To me that meant drinking them under the table. So my friend and I grabbed drinks. We sat down and downed them. Another perk of antibiotics is they give this strange sense of invincibility when you drink with them in your system. Like you could probably Iron Man that building across the parking lot.
Now I do remember dancing at this place. To some weird country music. Also I think at one point I tried to request a song...but it was a sad one. The DJ told me he was trying to make people happy. I can also say that I don't remember how many drinks I had exactly at this place.
So we danced. We drank. Danced some more. I think I cried in the bathroom at one point. Eventually we all decided it was time to hit our last and final destination.
I was feeling pretty damn awesome at this point. We walked all the way there and I think I skipped and sang the whole time. Which is pretty typical for me because when I get slightly tipsy I think I can run a marathon. I've considered downing a bottle of wine and trying my hand at an ironman.
First let me just paint a picture of the bar we went to. It is an old cowboy bar. It's the seedist bar in a small town and even people in this town are afraid to go there. I can't do justice to the strange skeeviness that oozes from it.
When we got there my rational brain FINALLY took hold of the situation and told me. "Amber you are a serious fuck up, but right now just get some water and sit your stupid ass down." My distraught/alcoholic/stupid/emotionally compromised brain (the one which almost always runs the show around here) cried like a small toddler but did as it was told. I got some water and sat down.
Sitting down= body no likey.
As I sipped my water, I could hear that sensor in your brain/stomach/esophagus go off. Puke was on its way.
Here is something I've learnt about myself. When I get sick from alcohol my first reaction is not that of a normal person. Instead of thinking "I need to get my sorry drunk ass to a toilet ASAP" My brain (keep in mind the stupid one is in control 99% of the time) says to me "Look bitch, we will get out of this alive if you follow these orders very directly: DO NOT GET UP FROM THIS SEAT. I will repeat that for you DO NOT REMOVE YOUR ASS FROM THIS SEAT, IT IS OUR SALVATION".
So I sat. But mother nature waits for no one. Because I firmly glued my ass to the seat I was left with only one place to throw up. In my water cup.
Turns out getting my vomit in that cup while drunk, is like a man trying to get all his urine into a toilet. It wasn't going to happen.
I managed to get most of it in, but I also managed to get vomit on my sweater and IN my new Marc Jacobs purse. I just heard all the girls cry.
After it was done. I was shamed. I could feel it seeping through my body like the sweet antibiotics I had taken earlier that day. I took off the conservative sweater. I stuffed it into my puke laden purse. I got up, puke on my tank top and in my hair.
I looked at no one. I heard my friend calling to me. But all my head was saying was "RUN BITCH RUN LIKE THE WINDS." Of course when you're drunk all you can manage is a drunken stumble.
I got outside. Pulled out my phone and dialed the only people in the world who can pick you up in this state. My parents.
"Mom, Dad! HELP! Save Me! At the (insert skeevy bar name here)!" and I hung up.
I stumble to the corner to wait. I'm going to paint you the final picture of the night.
As my mom pulls up all she sees is me, standing on a street corner outside a skeezy bar, wearing nothing but a short skirt, a skanky tank top, my hair messed up and greasy, mascara streaked down my face, high heels and my body half bent over vomiting. Need I say more?
Moral of the Story:
Kids I'm going to give it to straight. If you wanna try and outdrink a guy while on antibiotics...
you'll just end up looking like a prostitute.
Put that in your bank and spend it.
So, this night happened a few years ago. I was going through a rough time, and mostly was on a monster bender after a break up (surprise, surprise). I also happened to be on antibiotics for a bronchial infection.
Now kids, there is always the warning on the side of antibiotics that says "do not consume alcohol". Most normal, intelligent, life-loving, and might I add intelligent people follow these directions. They take a few days off, catch up with family, go to sleep early and just generally don't fuck with the World War 4 that is happening in their body.
Not this guy.
No, I was far to deep in my pit of despair to understand the importance of not drinking while taking antibiotics. Instead, I figured I'd go out with a guy friend of mine for drinks in my small town (and by small town I mean really fucking small). So I popped my first antibiotic, with warnings from my mom saying "just don't drink a lot. Seriously". Whatever mom, as if you even know.
I got dressed in a skirt, a slutty tank top, and a nicely conservative sweater over that. I packed my new Marc Jacobs purse (which by the way I had saved up for...all my savings that summer blown on one purse. Bye bye food for the school year).
As I was leaving, my mom once again reminded me "Amber, seriously don't drink to much, the bottle says you shouldn't" I looked at her and said "Seriously mom I never drink to much, so I will probably fine" Famous last words my friends.
I pulled into the first bar of our night (yes there were several after) with thoughts of one drink and done. Now I have to explain that my friend was like 6'5 and pretty muscular. I ordered my first and it went down like apple juice. That's probably because I'm an alcoholic. No just kidding. I wasn't... at that time at least. But I digress.
As you all already know, I gain an overinflated sense of my ability to do anything once I've had one drink. Well as usual, I just assumed I could keep up with my friend, DRINK FOR DRINK. I mean being 5'4 and a light weight totally equates to a strong ability to hold my liquor.
It actually doesn't. Do the math folks.
And so we drank. I made grand statements about my ability to down cider, as I often do. I can't remember how many drinks I had at that first bar. I'm going to go with 3. At least. Thats being lenient.
Now the beautiful thing about antibiotics is they have built in dumb-ass sensors. At this point my head got all weird. I felt like I was in some strange 70's music video. It should've been at this point that I said to myself "Amber, heres the one drink you said you would have and heres the 8 drinks that will land you in that gutter over there". But I didn't. I just followed my friend over to the bar across the street. (Our town has a lot of cowboys in it, therefore it has a lot of alcohol in it to).
We entered the bar. Music was playing, it was mostly empty except for some of my friends friends. Who also happened to know my brother. They were all the same age. So here I was, an opportunity to impress all the people that I had tried to impress in a training bra and braces. My time had come to show them how cool, just like my brother, I really was.
To me that meant drinking them under the table. So my friend and I grabbed drinks. We sat down and downed them. Another perk of antibiotics is they give this strange sense of invincibility when you drink with them in your system. Like you could probably Iron Man that building across the parking lot.
Now I do remember dancing at this place. To some weird country music. Also I think at one point I tried to request a song...but it was a sad one. The DJ told me he was trying to make people happy. I can also say that I don't remember how many drinks I had exactly at this place.
So we danced. We drank. Danced some more. I think I cried in the bathroom at one point. Eventually we all decided it was time to hit our last and final destination.
I was feeling pretty damn awesome at this point. We walked all the way there and I think I skipped and sang the whole time. Which is pretty typical for me because when I get slightly tipsy I think I can run a marathon. I've considered downing a bottle of wine and trying my hand at an ironman.
First let me just paint a picture of the bar we went to. It is an old cowboy bar. It's the seedist bar in a small town and even people in this town are afraid to go there. I can't do justice to the strange skeeviness that oozes from it.
When we got there my rational brain FINALLY took hold of the situation and told me. "Amber you are a serious fuck up, but right now just get some water and sit your stupid ass down." My distraught/alcoholic/stupid/emotionally compromised brain (the one which almost always runs the show around here) cried like a small toddler but did as it was told. I got some water and sat down.
Sitting down= body no likey.
As I sipped my water, I could hear that sensor in your brain/stomach/esophagus go off. Puke was on its way.
Here is something I've learnt about myself. When I get sick from alcohol my first reaction is not that of a normal person. Instead of thinking "I need to get my sorry drunk ass to a toilet ASAP" My brain (keep in mind the stupid one is in control 99% of the time) says to me "Look bitch, we will get out of this alive if you follow these orders very directly: DO NOT GET UP FROM THIS SEAT. I will repeat that for you DO NOT REMOVE YOUR ASS FROM THIS SEAT, IT IS OUR SALVATION".
So I sat. But mother nature waits for no one. Because I firmly glued my ass to the seat I was left with only one place to throw up. In my water cup.
Turns out getting my vomit in that cup while drunk, is like a man trying to get all his urine into a toilet. It wasn't going to happen.
I managed to get most of it in, but I also managed to get vomit on my sweater and IN my new Marc Jacobs purse. I just heard all the girls cry.
After it was done. I was shamed. I could feel it seeping through my body like the sweet antibiotics I had taken earlier that day. I took off the conservative sweater. I stuffed it into my puke laden purse. I got up, puke on my tank top and in my hair.
I looked at no one. I heard my friend calling to me. But all my head was saying was "RUN BITCH RUN LIKE THE WINDS." Of course when you're drunk all you can manage is a drunken stumble.
I got outside. Pulled out my phone and dialed the only people in the world who can pick you up in this state. My parents.
"Mom, Dad! HELP! Save Me! At the (insert skeevy bar name here)!" and I hung up.
I stumble to the corner to wait. I'm going to paint you the final picture of the night.
As my mom pulls up all she sees is me, standing on a street corner outside a skeezy bar, wearing nothing but a short skirt, a skanky tank top, my hair messed up and greasy, mascara streaked down my face, high heels and my body half bent over vomiting. Need I say more?
Moral of the Story:
Kids I'm going to give it to straight. If you wanna try and outdrink a guy while on antibiotics...
you'll just end up looking like a prostitute.
Put that in your bank and spend it.
