Under The Wagon

I turn 28 in February.

Since most of my friends are in their mid-30s, I mostly get “fuck you” reactions when I bitch about getting older, but I still feel the grim specter of Three-Oh looming over the bar.

Upside to getting older:
My alcohol tolerance has increased. It takes longer for me to get stinking-drooling-fall-down-drunk.

Downside to getting older:
My alcohol tolerance has increased. It costs a lot more for me to get stinking-drooling-fall-down-drunk.

Downside to it costing more/taking longer for me to get…
I get laid less.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have more sex than most people I know. I’m a chick with no discernible morals. I could be twice my weight, half my height, and triple the ugly, and still get laid. That’s the beauty of having a vagina. You guys desperately need it, and most girls act like they don’t want the one they have. So it works out well for me.

But with me spending more time upright at the bar, my standards have unfortunately gone up. Now, there’s really nowhere else for my standards to go than up…I’ve always been an equal opportunity trollop. I’m hardly a bottom feeder, but “average” guys (and the occasionally uggo) are just so wonderfully grateful. I’m not pretty enough to intimidate them, but I’m still a step better than what most of them are used to. Plus, few can believe it’s really that easy to get into my britches.

And I’d rather have an awestruck Joe Pony-Keg eating me out until I say so than the All-American personal trainer watching himself in the mirror over his bed while he plugs me.

But with decreased blood alcohol content, comes a) decreased “potential.” Guys I’d normally be naked with in a minute are suddenly…Mmm, not so much. And b) My drunken confidence level is also significantly reduced, so guys I might hunt down faster than Bambi’s mom are suddenly a little beyond me.

A few years ago I quit drinking. I started again not from rampant alcoholism, but because of the rampant I’m-not-getting-laid-to-save-my-life-ism.

Right now, I’m just trying to figure out why…given I’m currently as gin-riddled as I’ve ever been…aren’t I getting laid as much?

I’m blaming it on February.

Stupid 28. I didn’t sign on for this.

Tags: Early Wagon Archive: Sex, Drunk, & Rock n' Roll by Karla
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1. Lack of Enthusiasm

Him 1: Hey, Karla…I don’t know how to tell you this…But, um…I don’t want to see you anymore.
Me: Okay.
Him 1: What?
Me: Okay. You know, it’s cool.
Him 1: That’s it? That’s all you have to say???
Me: Why are you getting upset? You said you didn’t want to see me anymore and I said it’s okay.
Him 1 (sounding upset): I’m not upset! I just didn’t think it’d be that easy.
Me: Yeah, it pretty much is.
Him 1: (indignant silence)
Me: Um…I’m sorry?

2. Lack of Nurturing Instincts

Him 2: Hey, that feels really nice and all, but you’d better stop or I’m gonna want to fuck you.
Me: Well, yeah, that’s kinda the –
Him 2: It’s just that I’m really confused right now, and I just feel so hopeless all the time, you know, like I don’t know what I’m doing with my life and…
Me: Are you crying? Jesus christ.
Him 2 (turning over in bed to face the wall): God, the only way you even qualify as a woman is because you have a vagina!
Me: Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re crying!

3. Lack of Any Common Fucking Sense

Him 3: Hey you wanna do something stupid?
Me: …Yes.*

(Later, sitting naked on the floor amid the wreckage of what used to be my bed)

Him 3: Oh man, sorry about that. Think you can fix it?

(Much later)

Him 3: Well I better go. But like I said, my girlfriend and I on the rocks right now, so it’s okay. I’m probably moving out soon, anyway.
Me: That’s cool.

Really, it’s not the dying alone that bothers me. It’s the 20-30 years between now and then that are gonna be a bitch.

*Note: Karla Pacheco has never answered the question “Wanna do something stupid” with any answer other than “yes.”

Tags: Essays, Manifestos, & Unsolicited Opinions, Early Wagon Archive: Sex, Drunk, & Rock n' Roll by Karla
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Or: My 90 Proof Week

Saturday: I work 2am-6am, then 6pm-10pm. I’m exhausted and broke, but decide I need to go by the Elbo Room to make sure that it’s okay for my theater group to rehearse there on Sunday (it is). Mick, one of the Elbo Room’s owners, has recently inacted a “Karla drinks for free” mandate. I get stinkingly drunk.
[Read more →]

Tags: Early Wagon Archive: Sex, Drunk, & Rock n' Roll by Karla
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I believe in “pressure cleaning” my clothes. It’s a highly scientific method that works on the molecular level.

I pile all my dirty clothes up on the floor, and the weight of the clothes on top of the pile slowly pushes the assorted dirt and odors from the clothes below into…um, the floor? Maybe into outer space. Either way, gravity effectively cleanses my clothes, without harmful detergents, or more importantly, the need for me to drag my hungover ass down to the washing machine in the basement.

Pressure cleaning also uses the Theory of Relativity (I told you it was scientific). Eventually, the clothes underneath the pile are relatively cleaner than the ones on top. Then they go on top of the pile, and the cycle begins anew. It’s quite beautiful, really.

Anyway, this explains why I got to work tonight and realized that there was…something…on my jeans. The jeans were last worn a few days ago, which means they were at the bottom of the cleaning pile long enough that they smelled okay (I checked), but not long enough for the pressure to remove the…something (I thought I checked, but I was half asleep and not as vigilant in my search for “things” as I might have been).

I know what the something is. I know how it got there. I know who put it there. It’s barely noticible, but not something most people have on their pants at work. And I should be horribly disgusted at the whole idea, but in a twisted way I’m finding it amusing.

I can tell you this though: The shirt I wore that same night is gonna be at the bottom of the pile for quite some time.

Tags: Early Wagon Archive: Sex, Drunk, & Rock n' Roll by Karla
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Item: In absence of cash, bartenders will accept a “Flash” of perky young breasts as a tip. Gladly.

Item: Cabernet doesn’t mix well with gin. Nor does rum, beer, and whiskey.

Item: Cabernet also doesn’t come out of ivory silk chemise blouses.

Item: When you give your phone number out like candy, don’t be surprised when you get a shitload of unknown phone calls the next day, or voicemails such as “Hi, It’s Zeus…I met you last night. Uh, gimme a call.”

Item: If you wonder why the sun is shining when you leave the after party, check your watch. It’s probably becasue it’s 8am in the fucking morning, dumb ass.

Item: When surrounded by people who would like to have sex with you, don’t pick someone who lives with a woman he’s been romantically involved with.

Item: If you do decide to leave the after party with someone living with a woman he’s been romantically involved with, expect to have said woman screaming at you and the object of her former affection while you make out on the couch. Also expect to watch said couple bitch slapping each other as you scramble for your purse in an effort to escape their apartment. Ignore pleas from someone to “Please don’t leave me.” Then take a bus home, wearing a cabernet stained chemise, because you only have 2 dollars in your purse.

Item: Bus rides suck.

Things I didn’t learn

Who the hell was “Zeus?”

Tags: Early Wagon Archive: Sex, Drunk, & Rock n' Roll by Karla
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If you happen to appear in a burlesque show…and go full frontal in said show…

DON’T give the weblink (you know, the one that had pictures of you butt-ass naked) to a co-worker. Even if you think you can trust him. Even if you gave him a hand job that one time you were both really drunk.

‘Cause otherwise you’re gonna hear this the next week when you walk into work:

Different Co-Worker: “Hey, at least I can say I’ve seen you naked now…”
You: “Beg your pardon?”
Co-Worker: Yeah, I jacked off to that thing three times already! (to yet another co-worker) Hey! Did you see the naked pictures of Karla yet?”

(assuming your name is Karla)

Christ, I’m stupid sometimes.

Tags: Early Wagon Archive: Sex, Drunk, & Rock n' Roll by Karla
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