Wild Thing, Part Two

So last week I shared how I broke out of my good-girl mode and became a lying liar who employed her mother as an accomplice to the deception.

But, friends, the bad girl that dwells deep within me has made a few other appearances over the years.  I’ve mentioned before that I am not a big drinker.  A glass of wine or two is plenty for this lightweight.  I don’t do drunk very well, and getting tipsy is crazy enough for me.  I never understood why anyone would ever want to drink so damn much that they would puke everywhere or black out.  Anyone who cares to enlighten me on this topic and wants to extoll the virtues of binge drinking can share their sentiments in the comments.  Best answer gets a prize!  Free enrollment in AA!

(stop trying to be funny, and just get on with the story, they’re thinking.) 

(allright then, she says.)

So.  My story of drinking and debauchery.  I was definitely 21 at the time this took place, because I was legally able to drink.  I never had a fake ID. 

(Although… sidebar… I once ended up with TWO licenses one time.  Thought I lost my old one, so I got a new one.  Then I found the old license.  Oops!  Being the coolest big sister ever, I gave the second ID to my sister, who is six years younger.  So at 16, she had an ID of a 22 year old.  What?! Don’t look at me that way.  It wasn’t a FAKE ID!  It was a *REAL* ID, just… um… being used by the incorrect person.  My sister promptly used that ID to get into 21-and-up karaoke nights.  We’re wild ones, aren’t we?)

Back to the topic at hand.  So I was 21, with a freshly minted license that gave me permission to get drunk off my ass.  I went to the University of MD one weekend to hang out with some old high school friends.  Oh, it was a fun time.  We had big plans, which included:

1. Dancing at a local club.
2. Getting my belly button ring re-pierced.
3. Going to a MALE STRIP CLUB.

The first events went as planned.  We did the dancing and had fun.  I got the piercing done (I’d previously taken out my ring and the hole closed up.  Given that I was sexy cool party girl during this weekend, I figured my bellybutton needed to have some bling).  Then we went to the strip club.

If you’ve never been to a male strip club, I say this:  GET YE TO THE PLACE OF STUFFED MAN-THONGS A.S.A.P.!  So. much. fun.  I think most of the strippers are gay, but lordy do they make you think they aren’t.  Those boys flirted so much with our little group of girls.  They’d do their dancing on the stage and then come by our seats and give us free lap dances.  Of course, the dolla bills were flowing.

During all of this, sweet ‘lil Kelly, the novice drinker, was making some key mistakes.  Having never been roaring-ass drunk, and having never drank more than a wine cooler or a kahlua and cream (heavy on the cream) I was clueless.  I started off by marching to the bar and ordering a cosmopolitan.  Drank it down in short order.  Then I got a beer.  Polished that off.  Then a kahlua.

I was definitely feeling woozy.  Then one of the strippers started asking for a female volunteer to join him onstage.  By now I am far past tipsy and I am jumping up and down, screeching and hoping to be THE LUCKY GIRL who gets to JUMP ONSTAGE WITH THE STRIPPER! WOOOO!

And whaddya know!  The (probably gay) sexy oiled up stripper boy picked ME (suck that, you other biatches!) and pulls me up onto the stage.  I am placed center stage in a chair while he gyrates all over the place and I concentrate on staying in the chair.  THE BALANCE.  NOT SO GOOD WHEN DRUNK.

After he concludes with a pseudo-dry-humping that would make most normal men collapse in an exhausted heap on the floor, he picks me up and kisses my cheek.  THANKS FOR YOUR SERVICE, SIR…………  COME AGAIN, ANYTIME.  (I couldn’t resist that one!)

I return to my friends, victorious.  They order another round of drinks and I go along with it, even though my brain is seriously muddled at this point.  And I order some sort of fruity frozen drink.

Let’s recap this for you.  In the span of a few hours, I pretty much consume every type of drink from fancy cosmo, to beer, to creamy liquor, to fruity frozens.  BAD IDEA, lightweight.

Next thing I remember, I am so damn drunk that I just want to go to sleep.  Everything is spinning, my girls are hauling me out of the club as my stripper bids me farewell.  My friends can tell I am seriously drunk in a way I have never been drunk before, so they try to make me puke.  Even a copious amount of barfing doesn’t make me snap out of it, so my (caring, cautious) worrywart friends take me… to the HOSPITAL.

I don’t even remember what my blood alcohol level was.  Something pretty high. I just remember feeling scared, because OH SHIT they took my insurance card and that means my PARENTS WILL FIND OUT ABOUT THE DRUNKEN E.R. VISIT.  I also remember the doctor giving me I.V. fluids and a stern warning to “stop abusing alcohol.”  After a while I was allowed to leave and we ended up back at my friend’s place, where I promptly crashed and amazingly, woke up without a hint of a hangover.  To this day, I can say I have never had a hangover.

And, since I previously mentioned how my mother is the greatest mom in the world, I should now present Exhibit B.  Wanna know her reaction to the story of KELLY AND THE STRIP CLUB DRINKS OF DOOM?  I decided to fess up about my wild night before she got some sort of insurance notification, so I told her what happened.  The whole story, maybe minus some of the stripper dry-humping.  And what did Mom do?  She LAUGHED and just thanked me for being honest.  Like I said, she is awesome.

Moral of the story:  Don’t drink too many different varieties of booze.  You will get drunk off your ass, may get groped by a gay stripper, and end up in the hospital.  You don’t want that (well, the groping is cool, but the rest of it is NO FUN.)  Take my word for it.