Memorial Day Weekend

I am so motherfuckingly exhausted. I’ve been tired ever since I woke up Saturday morning with a splitting headache, a remnant from Fri evening’s festivities that ended with me doling out lap dances in a gay club and showing off my stripper moves on Saturday morning at 4:30am. I didn’t care that I was writhing on the floor, spreading open my legs while wearing a short skirt.

Luckily I was wearing my cute pink underwear.

Taking these stripper classes is one of the worst ideas for an exhibitionist like me. Because, before I learned the ways of women on stage, I would just get blinded drunk, do the dumb white girl drunk dance—booty shakes as I simultaneously threw my hands up in the air. Nothing terribly hot, well unless you were the recipient of me “freaking” on your thigh. Now that I have a dance routine that I learned from my strip-ilates class, it’s like Artistic carte blanch. I am no longer just an attention whore validating my attractiveness, I am a performer!

Or so I think after five drinks.

It was a whirlwind of booze and non-cuddles, with me drinking far more than appropriate and sleeping with my wifey.

And of course my attempt at being a country bumpkin got thwarted when I scraped my toe on a tractor and I ran to the Emergency room to get a tetanus shot. But I was a brave little soldier.

Ok, off to bed for me. I am hungover, dehydrated, and exhausted from the weekend. And bloated. I don’t think I ate anything that wasn’t fried the entire weekend.

God I fucking love the south.