Let this be a lesson to you kiddies. A lesson in drinking. A lesson in sex. Now we all know some of my friends aren't the prudest of sorts (no judgment), but no one deserves to get the ziyan b'eiyan (all my Hebrew-speaking tribe members out there know what I'm sayin'). For those of you who are not familiar, the ziyan b'eiyan is the dreaded result of an unfortunate sexual encounter - often the kind that requires a shot in the ass, or a good saline cleansing of one's particular orifice to heal. My friend Jackie was the most recent recipient of the Z-B, and was determined not to let that horrible bit of news ruin her day. She snapped herself back into a good mood in the only truly respectable fashion - she drank her way there. From breakfast with mimosas, to lunch with mojitos (Betty Ford don't stop me now!), to snack time with margs, Jackie was more chipper than Suze Orman on Lexapro at a Katy Perry concert. The drinking continued on into dinner - and when I say dinner I really mean two sticks of celery and a Jell-o Pudding cup - so by the time 2am rolled around and we hit after hours at Vanguard, Jackie was more than good to go *schwasted-out-of-her-face-face*. The DJ was a friend of mine so we had access to his VIP and special stash of complimentary alchi, which of course, we were more than happy to help him drink. I mean two Costco size Grey Geese, a bottle of Petron, and one of Jack weren't going to drink themselves now were they?
We got our groove on a bit amidst all the candy ravers hopped up on ungodly quantities of the green glow particle (glow sticks were so last year. have you ever seen a green Greedy smurf?). After I had a ring pop lovingly shoved in my mouth by a friendly but spaced out fellow party-goer, I decided it was time to move my party off the dance floor. My friend's DJ set had come to an end and the next young hotshot DJ was now spinning; and he too was betrothed a complimentary stash of alchi. Perhaps Jackie just neglected to notice that my friend was no longer DJ-ing or she
was just sooo drunk she thought the booze tray in front of her was her own personal platter of alchi, but she ripped into said DJ's bottle of Goose like it was water and the dance floor she just crossed was the desert. Before we knew it the establishment's manager was prying the bottle out of Jackie's hand and attempting to escort her out. Jackie slapped the woman and proceeded to yell, "Bitch, don't take my alcohol." Sweetie, we ain't in Weho anymore, you can't go round slappin' trannies. And with that we were chased out of Vanguard and quickly stumbled into the thick, smokey, ash-laiden Hollywood air *coughface*. Jackie's ziyan b'eiyan was certainly a distant memory come morning with her head perched over the porcelain.Till our next tragic encounter....
