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| Blogs > MsStig2010 > Meanwhile Back At The Ranch |
I'm Going to Get Chocolate Wasted!
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I'm Going to Get Chocolate Wasted!  Fact: The last time I was drunk was May 2011. Weekend of the Rapture of all weekends. I was in Baltimore with my gays for a girls weekend, and consumed too many bottles of Pinnacle vodka. There is more to the story, but the point is a 3 day hangover has left a bitter taste in my mouth. Please imagine waiting for a connecting flight at O'hare and laying at the base of trash can. A cute guy walked by, took one look at my pathetic face, my cowboy boots and Mavs tee and chuckled. I resumed to pulling myself slowly into a chair, closed my eyes, and prayed to God that the room would stop spinning. 3 days, folks. 3 fucking days. So I am planning another girls weekend in May. There will be good times, there will be delicious food, and a trip to Arlington to pay my respects to my grandfather ( side caveat to the sweet reader who left that comment in the previous post. Such a nice gesture, thank you!) in addition to the trip to D.C we're planning. But there will be no drinking. In the past 9 months since that trip I have consumed maybe a margarita or 2 here or there. Nothing crazy. Perhaps my aversion is stemming from too many wild nights at such a young age but my taste of alcohol is minimal at the moment. I was never at an alcoholic caliber level, I'm too much of a snob for that shit, but it was a triumph to shoot whiskey better than most men and still walk out the bar in my 5 inch heels without problem. All those crazy nights often resulted in some pretty amazing sexual escapades. One night a date and I bar hopped all over downtown, taking breaks to fuck like animals in the back of his Escalade in a public parking lot. Nothing like being mid doggy position when a cop knocks on the window. Why yes, Officer, I was fully aware in my far too drunken state that we were parked in front of a busy night club with several people looking in. Why yes, Officer, I totally realize my make up is smeared and I am willing to agree that is semen on the side of my face. In addition to developing a talent for car sex ( ever read that Dr. Seuss book," Oh, the places you will go"? Who knew how that would impact my life) and perfecting road head, I have been known to be the fun drunk girl that comes a-knocking on the door at 2 am. One night, wearing just my coat, my 6 inch party heels, and panties. Peeling off clothing in the parking lot at a 7-11 around the corner from the guy's place was probably not the wisest choice, but meh, who cares. The sex was AMAZING and I kept my shoes on. Yet, not with one drunken encounter can I pin point anyone I had a connection with or was a repeat performer. In some ways, I miss the reckless abandon and Billy Idol swagger I had in my youth, the days I'd sit on your husbands face and ride him hard because you, the Mrs. was watching. I miss at times the adreneline of the unexpected, because I don't know about y'all but being bent over the hood of some guys Audi A7 in the middle of a quiet neighborhood at 12 am is not the norm for this gal. I can wax nostalgic all night, but it is a hard pill to swallow sometimes that I had to lay that person I once was to rest. I have no room for that person in my life. We simply grew apart. It wasn't her, it was me. The more I've thought about it, I spent far too long building the blocks around myself to allow for good things to happen. The past year has been about posititioning myself for good things, great people, and better opportunities ( let's be honest, an unexpected lay off will kick your ass into survival mode) and I'm waiting. That's an even harder pill to swallow that the universe doesn't work on my time. Anyone who is reading this can relate whether you're a Christian or not, but patience is something I struggle with. I want things to happen on my time, from mundane daily desires to major life plans. This is something I have yet to grow out of. I only hope I can be reflective a year from now and be passed this silly habit of mine. Much like my 3 days hangover, I hope this year also serves it's purpose of kicking a bad habit out of me for good. Except I won't be hugging toilet excercising the demons and having a come to Jesus moment. You never really can say you've lived until you're face down on someone's bath room floor, delusional from Whipped cream flavored vodka, thinking, " I hope to God my vagina isn't on display." At least Priscilla had enough sense not to make an appearance that trip. Thank God for the small things, eh? All pretty girls are a trap, a pretty trap, and men expect them to be. |
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Heh.. the patience theme and the idea that the universe has a timeline that has no consideration of your wants; you have only begun to find out how true that all is. But we can always lament the wilder youth days gone by. Here's the thing; while you may not live every day like you once did, you do not have to let go completely. Smart as a horse and hung like Einstein.
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