Wednesday, February 22, 2012

A Lazidaisical Kind of Day

A few weeks ago I finally decided to take a leap and host a guest blogger and today, I have a treat for you. The lovely Lazidaisical offered to guest post! If you're not following her, well, you should probably do something about that. The girl is seriously funny. She's honestly blunt and tells things the way she sees them, which I love. Plus we love coffee. And drinking. And good music. I want to thank her for taking the time to write something for CTAM. I gave her free reign to write about whatever she wanted. Understandably, it's easier to write with some semblance of a topic. I tweeted her, "London shenanigans?" and it helped. Here are her expert experiences... with drinking.

So, in preparation for writing this guest post, I stalked the blogs of random people who show up in my Twitter stream to see what kind of stuff their guest bloggers write about. Everyone seems to utilize guest bloggers, by the way. It really seems like the fashionable thing to do. And because I am a guest blogger myself right now, I feel very hip, relevant, and of-the-moment. For those of y’all who’ve never read my shit before, feel free to assume that my shit is all of the above. Anyhow, typically, guest bloggers are guest bloggers because they are experts about something. They write informative stuff that makes readers feel really grateful towards them, and maybe even slightly motivated to get off their asses and do something.

So while brainstorming for this post, I got myself settled on to the sofa with pen and paper and the intention to kind of scribble down all the many things I happen to be an expert at, so as to hone in on one of those things and then write this post targeting people who also want to be experts at these things. Well, all the things that I’m an expert on are mostly negative: vandalism, being paranoid, making people feel stupid, alcohol, etc… And I don’t know if there’s even an audience out there that want to know how to be an ideal vandal, or a perfect paranoid mess, or an awesome verbally abusive retail manager.

So, I chose to write about alcohol.

Which is no surprise to me, really, considering I was drunk last night when I attempted to make the list. And I am also drunk as I write this post, just like I am when I write posts on my own blog. I figured there’s no need to be pretentious here! Michael seems to like alcohol and the lyrical title of her blog (which is what first drew me to it!) pretty much alludes to drunken nights of wonderful things, so what follows is a drunken ramble about being drunk in some of my favorite places.

Some of my fondest memories of alcohol are from when I was a bright-eyed newlywed living in London in my early twenties (and I’m still in my twenties, mind you [I have issues with getting older; but now is not the time to get into that, I guess]): twirling around our cozy little townhome; Heineken in hand; laughing; having sex; getting cravings for foods that, only a few measly months earlier, I didn’t even know existed. My husband and I would bundle up and urgently bolt out into the brisk hazy nights for some kebabs at the little take-away spot with the eerie yellow glow that was just across the way, or for some curry-spiced fried chicken and waffle fries at the place two blocks down that had a sign with a chicken on it being chased by orange and white polka dots. The very first time that we decided to journey all the way in to London, we ended up fumbling, drunk (needless to say), through Soho, popping in and out of sex shops and ducking in and out of dark smoky bars where transvestites and people on drugs were performing; and we stumbled upon a staircase that led down into a fringe theatre where a performance of The Vagina Monologues was about to happen (it was almost one a.m.). Well, The Vagina Monologues is not as sexy as its name implies, it actually touches upon disturbing stuff; and that is basically where the story ends. Well, the extended version (which probably isn’t one you came here to read, but…) is: my hubby likes to take me on lavish excursions so that we can engage in a special kind of ugh something afterwards, but after hearing some of the vagina stories in that play, I wasn’t even up for engaging in the standard version of that something.

Yeah, sorry for the anti-climactic storytelling.

Something more action-packed with drunkness is this: during a vacation on the island of Malta, one creepy bartender certainly tried to ensure that my husband got what he wanted. After a long afternoon of seeing ancient ruins and being tricked into eating rabbit meat [I just gagged real fucking hard right now], my husband and I and the other couple we’d gone there with headed down to the beachside bars around nine to start partying and shit. The bartender kept eyeing me and nodding his head as we stood at the bar waiting for him to serve us. Somehow this did not raise a red flag in my mind. At the time, I was mad at my husband for being annoying about things like telling me I take too long to get ready and telling me I suck for not knowing how to read maps from other countries. So he was trying to touch up on me and I was blatantly, intentionally ignoring him and making disgusted faces at him when his hands got near my ass or boobs. I was too preoccupied to really pay attention to the bartender’s actions.

So, to teach me a lesson, I guess, and to ensure that this guy with me got laid, the creepy bartender fucking roofied my beers. Or some such shit. Not even fucking kidding. Back then, I could drink a dozen drinks in one sitting, yet after only one and a half Heinekens, I was sliding out of my chair and my husband says I was talking like my tongue was swollen; no one could understand me. I started sitting on the fucking ground asking them to just let me go to sleep for a little while. I remember trying to use the plant next to our table as a pillow. My husband asked if I wanted to go back to the hotel, and I said I wanted to go back into the air. So he took my ass back to the hotel at 9: 45 p.m. – the earliest time I’ve ever called it quits in my life, and I slept until 3 p.m. the next afternoon. He couldn’t wake me any sooner. And he said I kept gasping in my sleep. I woke up sweating through my clothes, heart racing, and I couldn’t remember anything besides the fact that I had started feeling really fucking abnormal after only one and a half Heinekens. I’m not even the type of drunk person who doesn’t remember shit. I never black out. My husband and our friends said it was like I was drugged or something. So I believe whole-heartedly that I was.

Fucking bartender must not have realized I’m MARRIED to the guy who was obnoxiously trying to fondle me. Guy was gonna get in my pants whether I wanted him to or not! But I cherish the experience of being roofied. It gives me a certain street cred, I feel. I grew up in the ‘hood but haven’t lived there for over 8 years, so I am always on the lookout for ways to maintain my street cred ( – what better time to throw this in here?!) And if ever I need to roofie-up a character in a future story I write, I will feel confident that I have all the details of roofie-ing correct.

So, really, though I initially stated that alcohol was a negative thing to be an expert at, I am changing my tune and saying (as I have always said anyway) that it is a wonderful positive thing, as it created, and continues to create, great moments that would not exist if I were a sober person. More quick examples: sitting on staircases in Montmartre, Paris, listening to street musicians play their ballads in the middle of the night; spending Christmas Eve in bars under a bridge in Berlin; watching a live sex show in the red light district in Amsterdam and laughing hysterically because the guy’s choreographed seduction dance looked like Liu Kang’s moves from Mortal Kombat; getting pregnant in a strange hotel in downtown Las Vegas after getting kicked out of the Golden Nugget on account of my husband and I ordering alcoholic beverages for my 17-year-old brother – who was kicking ass at craps when security tracked us down, but they didn’t allow him to keep his fucking winnings!

I guess, really, my expert informative guest blogger opinion on life in general is to get drunk and just see what fucking happens. Just let whatever happens happen. Sure, you might get roofied up or get pregnant, but will anything remotely as exciting happen to you while you are sober? Well, I guess these things could happen to you while you’re sober, but being drunk adds an extra layer of amazement and incredulity to them. 


  1. Hahaha this guest post is awesome. I like your hubby's plan to wine and dine you before sexing you up, but i can't believe you got roofied! I like the "is it still date rape if we're married" tag


    If that doesn't give you street cred, my friend, nothing will. 

  3. I never thought of roofying my wife. I should try that, either if I want some quick sex, OR if I just want her to sleep for a bit while I play video games. Yeah, I said it.

  4. Oh my! Two of my very favorite girls are playing together and sharing words!! How fun! I can say, Laz, that even without being roofied you still have massive street cred in my book. I've have beers with you... granted it was just a few, but that was all it took to win me over! Plus you are super cute and very sassy and that is all bonus awesome in my book! We should have a drunk post exchange... everyone write a drunk piece and then pull names out of a hat to see who posts where. Like waking up next to a stranger, only better because we would all know at least that stranger would be awesome, and drunk too!

    1. OMG I was totally thinking I should host a differen drunk guest blogger every month or something!!! This could be a thing...