Most sane people see a website like texts from last night and think, “wow, that’s funny.” And then they go back to their careers and forget about it.
Unfortunately, I am certifiable:
Also have a license to drive unicorns.
And as such, my first instinct is… I want to do that! I have “everybody but me” syndrome – everybody else gets drunk on their face and has crazy shenanigans, I want to too! (I love the word shenanigans.)
This feeling didn’t actually come of nowhere. There are several people in my life, people close to me, that have daring and wild pasts fueled with alcohol and a need for risk. While I’ve also been one to blaze my own trail, it wasn’t a trail likely to land me often in jail, and I have to admit, I have the feeling I’ve missed something. Why am I never the friend that wakes up without pants?
Then I got the text message.
“COME HANG OUT!!!!?!!!?!”
I began to salivate. This sounded like drunken shenanigans!
I jumped into a taxi and shattered the sound barrier as I blazed to Itaewon, also known as shenanigan central of Korea. What would the night hold for me? I eagerly ticked off the possibilities in my head: vomiting, arrest, pantlessness…
I arrived to quite possibly the most boring thing ever – two people, one with a laptop, in a starbucks!
NOT Shenanigans
Needless to say, my disappointment was Epic. I NEEDED this. This WOULD happen.
I whipped out my Desert Eagle, which I fondly call “the doorbuster.” “We’re going to the bar,” I growled.
My friends quickly agreed.
We started at Nasheville (hey the sign has an “e”), a cozy dive if there ever was one, and began to pump jack into us as quickly as possible. Eventually, the waitress decided to just hook us up to some IV’S, as it would less work for her. One of my friends decided she wouldn’t be drinking, due to her medication, but changed her mind when we all took her medication with her. Right about the time when all of the ghetto soldiers started to look the same, we kicked the doors down and hiked up to Caliente, also known as the world’s most ghetto salsa club. After an hour or so, we were finally drunk enough to hit the gay clubs up on hooker hill.
I can’t actually remember all of this point of the night, but I do know that I finally had the adventure I’ve always dreamed of. Some minor highlights:
* got bitten on the face several times. Face still hurts on the right side.
* grabbed a million boobies.
* motorboated enough lesbians to run a shipyard.
* climbed up on the bar at least four times, two of which to take dollar bills out of the tranny bartender’s boob cups with my teeth, two to receive the favor.
* lost a friend, climbed around on the floor to find her. This involved sliding on my knees under all the tables while screaming “ninja.” No, I don’t know why “ninja” was involved.
* ran down hooker hill screaming about ninjas, my awesome boyfriend, and ninjas again.
* tore my shirt in half.
* used the urinal because the toilet was full of people having sex and DID NOT PISS MYSELF, met the tranny bartender’s fiance as a result.
* got paid to make out with a girl, who later stalked me.
* was eye-challenged to a dance-off on the bar tables by a raging flaming queen. Won with a low squat body wave against the wall, because my opponent then fell off the table.
* shot a man in the face.
* pet a unicorn.
(*** One of the above isn’t real. Find it. ***)
Now that I have had that experience, I don’t have to have it again.
Wait… I’ve never had it before.. right….?
(Time Traveling…)
