Friday, March 4, 2011

We're All In This Together

Ahoy bitches,

Don't get offended. I use bitches as a term of endearment.

Do you know what I love? I love when I come upon the chance to do something sketchy with other people. You know, it doesn't seem quite as sketchy to pull the hinges from a door to get into a forbidden room if there are six people involved. Lighting a cement post on fire? Almost normal if fifteen girls are doing it. And talking your friend's little brother into stripping at a classmate's birthday bash is totally not weird if four other people help you decide between the firefighter and policeman costumes. 
(Firefighters always win with male strippers. Girls make great policewomen though!)

The only negative aspect of group sketchiness is that, sometimes, I become a participant unwillingly. And that's when sketchy becomes risky...

We're All In This Together

So. It was my senior year of college and I needed a break. Seriously, being on a campus of 700 or so all the time and seeing the same people day in and day out can be kind of intense.

Arla could see that I was cracking (I'd begun waking up at 10am to watch Judge Judy and drink Natty Light in my underwear until my classes began at 1pm) and so she suggested we go on a road trip. We needed somewhere we could get to in an hour or less because, lezbi-honest, I couldn't go longer than that without a drink. I called up an older friend of ours, Breana,  who had graduated the year before, and within a few minutes we had a place to stay in a neighboring city and the promise of a crazy night out at the local gay bar.

(This is my fantasy. The bar was no where near this fancy.)

Classes ended at 4:30 P.M.  so Arla and I rolled up to Breana's home around 6 on a Friday. Of course we began drinking right away. Breana had invited a few friends over and they were more than happy to help us drink our cares away. After a few rounds of Kings, Arla and I were sufficiently tipsy. Breana loaded us into her car and we began the journey to the bar.

In the backseat, I began pulling mini-bottles of Captain Morgan's out of my purse. To this day, I don't think I can tell you how I got them. I'm sure it was sketchy, some way, some how. But however they came to be, I was more than happy to share them with my lesbi-bestie and the two other girls smashed into the backseat with us. When we hit the bar half an hour later, the whole backseat was on cloud fucking nine.

Throughout the night, Arla and I rotated the beer-buying duties. Luckily for us, this was a complete dive and all beers were only $1.75. Well, all beers but one: Coronas were $2.50. Drunkenly, Arla and I discussed upgrading our Bud Lights, but we decided $2.50 was just too much for a beer.

About half an hour after we made this agreement, I was across the bar from Arla, dancing with some old guy and his glow-in-the dark wands. Straight bars will never match the Whatever Goes vibe of gay bars. Suddenly, Arla begins walking towards me with a big grin on her face. In her hand was a beautiful, sweating, cold, fizzing Corona. "I got that hot chick to buy it for us," she said, nodding towards an middle-aged woman in leather pants. "Riiiiiiight..." I took a swig and felt the delicious chill of fresh-from-the-icebox-beer roll down the inside of my back before I gave the bottle back to Arla.

"Actually," Arla continued, "that woman agreed to buy it for us, but then some guy just handed me his. He said he didn't drink from it though." I began to respond, but Arla had even more to say, "My mom always told me not to drink beverages provided by strangers because they might be drugged. That's why I'm sharing this with you. If we get raped, at least we'll go through it together."
A Little Princess (you already knew that, right?!)

You've. Got. To. Be. Shitting. Me.

That's what you're thinking right?!

Because that's totally what I was thinking.

So I said as much.

"No," Arla smiled and put her arm on my shoulder, "I really love you enough to do that. I would never make you go through anything alone." I examined Arla's face for some sign that she was joking, but that girl was drunk and she sincerely thought I was thanking her for (possibly) sharing a horrible roofied future with her.

I grabbed her arm, excused myself from the man with the wands, and dragged Arla through the bar until I found Breana. "You've got to take us home NOW." I told her.

I was just finishing the recount of Arla's logic to Breana when Arla began hugging the older man behind me. Breana and I exchanged a look of confusion before Arla explained, "This is the man who gave us the beer!"


To answer any questions: Yes, we left the bar. No, no one messed with us. And Arla only barely remembered her actions the next morning, so I couldn't be as angry with her as I wanted to be.

Now, what would you say was the point of this ridiculousness? Suggest away in the comments.

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