Wasted

Wasted

by Karina Spade

 

I am so fucking wasted right now.

 

I stumble around the costume party. A house full of old friends from high school.

They hide behind their Guy Fawkes masks and their stripper heels and their goth-

glam garb. Pretend not to be fucked-up like I am.

 

My costume? I’m not sure. Kind of a cross between Magenta from Rocky Horror

Picture Show and Mrs. Lovett from Sweeney Todd. Helena Bonham Carter as Mrs.

Lovett. Me as Helen Bonham Carter, as Mrs. Lovett, as Magenta. Someone tells

me I look like a Gothic Madonna. Tomorrow I’ll see pictures and decide that I’m

just ridiculous.

 

Shit. I spilled another drink. Someone wipes the spilt bourbon off the linoleum.

Later I’ll clean up more alcohol from an inside drawer.

 

It’s a good thing I bought the crotchless fishnets. I’ve had to piss every ten minutes.

 

Frank struts down the stairs in black lace lingerie. That’s pretty funny. Brave. The

cell phone in his panties lights up and vibrates every once in a while. Illuminates his

junk. He ignores me most the night. I wonder if he’d notice me if I starved myself

like I used to. Suffocated my curves in a pair of skinny jeans. At least I look better in

lingerie than he does.

 

I play pool with some of the boys. I kick their asses, despite my inebriation. Aramis

threatens me with his fencing foil. Challenges me to a rematch. All I want to do is

shrink down to three inches tall. Take a nap in the right corner pocket.

 

Kitty is dressed like a cat. She comes over and bites my cleavage. I’m surprised she

hasn’t already found some pirate to make out with. She’s had a pirate fetish ever

since we watched Snatchbuckler in the tenth grade.

 

I’m outside smoking a clove cigarette. Now I’m in the garage smoking a menthol.

Now I’m on the weight bench trying to bench press 100 pounds with a cigar in my

mouth. My friend Jesus comes over and saves me before my arms go limp. He’s

dressed like a nun. Bless you, sister.

 

In fourth grade I had a crush on a boy named Nathan. I often tried to kick him in the

balls. He once asked me, “Are you smart, or are you stupid? Because sometimes

you seem pretty smart, but other times you act really stupid.” I asked him which one

he thought was better. Earlier tonight Sid’s girlfriend threw his keys on the roof. I

would ‘ve helped, but “Hollaback Girl” started playing and I just had to dance.

 

I pour myself another drink. Then another. Then another. I’m so numb I don’t even

notice how tight my corset is anymore. Specks of light sparkle in my cup.

 

No sign of Frank. There’s something especially lonely about being with someone

who doesn’t seem to know you exist.

 

I’m too young to feel like this, right?

 

Someone puts on rap. Not my thing, but fun to dance to. Britney and Christina give

me a lap dance. They’re really good at it, I don’t have any dollars bills to give them.

They get a little more into it when the boys start cheering. Britney takes off her

shirt. Seven years ago, it would have been me giving the lap dance. Fully clothed, Of

course. I wasn’t a skank, just a tease.

 

Jesus Christ, I’m dizzy.

 

More dancing. We all take shots. I kill a bottle of rum. I pour some whiskey into

an oversized shot glass from Medieval Times. I fill it to the line that says Lady in

Waiting. Empty it into my throat and fill it all the way to the line that says Wench I’ll

regret this tomorrow when I’m at work and still a little buzzed.

 

I’ve got the hiccups. Jesus urges me to go to the bathroom in case I have to puke. I

don’t. Later I will puke. I’ll puke on my night stand and all over my birth certificate

and on most of my textbooks.

 

Christ. Going up the stairs is impossible. I crawl most the way. Fuck it. I’ll just lie

here on the landing for a little while.

 

I am so fucking wasted right now.

 

I stumble around the costume party. A house full of friends from high school. They

hide behind there Guy Fawkes masks and their stripper heels and their goth-glam

garb. Pretend not to be fucked-up like I am.

 

My costume? I’m not sure. Kind of a cross between Magenta from Rocky Horror

Picture Show and Mrs. Lovett from Sweeney Todd. Helena Bonham Carter as Mrs.

Lovett Me as Helen Bonham Carter, as Mrs. Lovett, as Magenta. Someone tells

me I look like a Gothic Madonna. Tomorrow I’ll see pictures and decide I’m just

ridiculous.

 

Shit. I spilled another drink. Someone wipes the spilt bourbon off the linoleum.

I’ll clean up more alcohol from the inside drawer.

 

It’s a good thing I bought the crotchless fishnets. I’ve had to piss every ten minutes.

 

Frank struts down the stairs in black lace lingerie. That’s pretty funny. Brave. The

cell phone in his panties lights up and vibrates every once and a while. Illuminates

his junk. He ignores me most of the night. I wonder if he’d notice me if I starved

myself like I used to. Suffocated my curves in a pair of skinny jeans. At least I look

my better in lingerie then he does.

 

I play pool with some of the boys. I kick their asses, despite my inebriation. Aramis

threatens me with his fencing foil. Challenges me to a rematch. All I want to do is

shrink down to three inches tall. Take a nap in the right corner pocket.

 

Kitty is dressed like a cat. She comes over and bites my cleavage. I’m surprised she

hasn’t already found some pirate to make out with. She’s had a pirate fetish ever

since we watched Snatchbuckler in the tenth grade.

 

I’m outside smoking a clove cigarette. Now I’m in the garage smoking a menthol.

Now I’m on the weight bench trying to bench press 100 pounds with a cigar in my

mouth. My friend Jesus comes over and saves me before my arms go limp. He’s

dressed like a nun. Bless you, sister.

 

In fourth grade I had a crush on a boy named Nathan. I often tried to kick him in the

balls. He once asked me, “Are you smart, or stupid? Because sometimes you seem

pretty smart, but other time you act really stupid?’ I asked him which one he thought

was better. Earlier tonight Sid ‘s girlfriend threw his keys on the roof. I would’ve

helped but “Hollaback Girl” started playing and i just had to dance.

 

I pour myself another drink. Then another. Then another. I’m so numb I don’t even

notice how tight my corset is anymore. Specks of light sparkle in my cup.

 

No sign of Frank. There’s something especially lonely about being with someone

who doesn’t seem to know you exist.

 

I’m too young to feel like this, right?

 

Someone puts on rap. Not my thing, but fun to dance to. Britney and Christina give

me a lap dance. They’re really good at it. I don’t have any dollars bulls to give them.

They get a little more into it when the boys start cheering. Britney takes off her

shirt. Seven years ago, it would have been me giving the lap dance. Fully clothed, of

course. I wasn’t a skank, just a tease.

 

Jesus Christ, I’m dizzy.

 

More dancing. We all take shots. I kill a bottle of rum. I pour some whiskey into

an oversized shot glass from Medieval Times. I fill it to the line that says Lady in

Waiting. Empty it into my throat and fill it all the way to the line that says Wench. I’ll

regret this in the tomorrow when I’m at work and still a little buzzed.

 

I’ve got the hiccups. Jesus urges me to go to the bathroom in case I have to puke. I

don’t. Later I will puke. I’ll puke on my nightstand and all over my birth certificate

and on most of my textbooks.

 

Christ. Going up the stairs is impossible. I crawl most the way. Fuck it. I’ll just lie

here on the landing for a little while.

 

Kitty bites my tits and walks off again.

 

We’re too old to act like this, right?

 

I lift my head up off the ground to look for Frank. Don’t see him. I imagine where

I’d be right now if my family never told me I was too young to make it on my own. If

Frank and I never ran off to Reno and got hitched.

 

The floor spins out of control beneath me. Nausea sets in. I crawl up the stairs and

into the bathroom.

 

My head itches. I take off my crazy frizzy wig and throw it in the bathtub. My hair

under the wig is even crazier and frizzier. Kinda sexy though.

 

More dancing, more drinking. More eight ball corner pocket, or wherever.

 

Time to pee again. Kitty follows me into the bathroom.

 

Damn, my hair looks good.

 

Some guys ask Kitty and me what we’re doing in the bathroom together. We giggle

and leave them guessing. I try to flirt with all the boys equally. That way they don’t

know when I’m serious,

 

There are people dry humping on the couch.

 

I scarf down 600 calories of once-frozen pot stickers. Pretty damn tasty. I wash it

down with some Seagrams.

 

Marilyn is lying on the pool table.

 

These pot stickers are truly delicious. Was I drunk when I made them? Was I drunk

when I went to work today? Seriously, when did I get this drunk? I can’t remember not

being drunk. Tomorrow when I write about this, I’ll still be a little drunk.

 

Is everyone as lost as I am in the really-real-world?

 

I sit down in a very modern, very uncomfortable Ikea chair. I feel my head getting

heavier. I start to…

 

…very bright in here…

 

Drinking is the suicide of choice for people who are afraid to die. If you do it right, you

get to wake up the next day. Do it all over again.

 

My grandfather died of cirrhosis of the liver. I never met him.

 

I feel like I’m floating…

 

I jump back to consciousness and realize that Jesus just carried me upstairs. He guides

me to my bed.

 

Did I turn the oven off?

 

Kitty squeezes in through the cracked door. She curls up next to me and falls asleep. I

don’t complain when she hogs the bed. I’m just glad to have the company.

 

Frank barges in and begs for a threesome. I pretend not to be slightly turned on by the

idea. I tell him that married people shouldn’t have threesomes. It makes things weird. I

will later realize that he interprets this as, ” let’s have sex with other people.’

 

Frank leaves. I remind myself not to care.

 

I run to the toilet and throw up. Kitty sits in the bathtub with her arms around her

knees, trying not to throw up. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s actually pregnant.

Next month I’ll take her to the clinic. l’ Il yell obscenities at the Jesus-freak protestors

when they tell us we’re going to Hell. Kitty will look at her feet and say nothing.

 

I go back to bed.

 

Kitty goes back to bed.

 

I wake up and throw up next to the bed.

 

Kitty throws up in the toilet.

 

Only a few hours before I have to get ready for work.

 

I want to sleep. I want to wake up.

 

This house smells like puke.

 

I sweat beneath the itchy warmth of my blanket. I pull it tight around my body. I don’t

take it off, no matter how hot I get—it’s my blanket, and I can’t sleep without it.

 

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