drinking yourself under a bench…not just for kids anymore!

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There comes a time in every dirty, mouthy hooker’s life in which she finds herself in the unavoidable situation of being drunk to the point of stupid activity but unfortunately not so drunk that she drinks herself into a safely somnolent stupor. On occasion, believe it or not, this has happened to me.

Which is probably why I found myself under a bench last Friday night.

As you all might imagine, the drunkeder I get, the funnier I get (in my own mind, at least). And since I love soliciting major amusement from my audiences, it makes sense, then, that as I got drunkeder the more and more outrageous were my attempts at hilarity. Up to and including crawling under the table across a bar floor encrusted with God knows what, only to pop up on the other side and scare the bejeezus out of Pocket and Bean.

My favorite bar has a bench outside the front door…presumably to provide a location where its many intoxicated patrons can await the transportation of their choice. Since mine was in the bathroom, it made sense to me that I also would use this convenient location to wait.

The odd part was that I decided to do it from under the structure. Luckily, the worst to come out of the experience was that I got my pants wet. And a little embarrassed the next day. I survived.

The Kitten, a.k.a. Dudette a.k.a. Terrorist Hooker Cat On Whom I Regularly Put Maximum Hurting, has decided to make terrorizing the Crazy Cat That Lives In The Attic her primary pastime. Poor Cat has now become the Crazy Cat Who Won’t Come Out Of The Bedroom.

I have seen this little kitten launch herself at Cat like one of those dumb drunks throwing themselves at the flypaper walls – fully expecting to stick like a spread out starfish and instead being unpleasantly surprised when they fall to the floor. Not surprisingly, this is endless fun for Kitten and a living hell for Cat. Cat actually hissed at me the other day, and I have had numerous nose-to-whisker conversations with Kitten while she is suspended by the scruff of her scrawny little neck. None of this makes much difference yet so far as I can see.

Other than that, work is going great, personal life in a bit of upheaval but settling down, and I’m pretty well content with the way things are going. It would appear that lately I am an under-bench-lying, kamikaze-kitten-owning, delightfully single woman with a multitude of prospects on the horizon.

All of which I plan to view from the safety of beneath my kitchen table, not having a bench conveniently handy.


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