Dark Side of Drunk: The Exotic Locale of Medford

"Why do you drive the Crown Victoria again?" I ask Officer Cheapskate, who pretended that he needed to talk to me. We're standing in the alleyway behind the store. He really just wanted to take a smoke break and made me come along.

"Got a sweet deal on it," he winks at me as he takes a drag. "Thirty-seven hundred."

Wow, correctional officers get great deals on the cars they used to drive on the job. Sweet is right. Not. I give him a withering glance. So what you're telling me is that you used to be a cop, you're cheap, AND you drive a stupid car? I'm reviewing just how lame this is when I realize he's still yapping about the "Crown Vic."

"…still have the spotlight and everything. Pretty cool, dude. Have I told you that I never pay for coffee? Check this out," OC pulls out his wallet and several business cards spill out. Apparently OC has friends in low--er, high--places. I can hear my mom in my head: I HATE it when people brag about getting things for free. It's just so…cheap. I stare at him in bewilderment as he takes another drag of the cigarette and moves onto the free haircut he just "scored." Yeah. I wouldn't pay for a haircut like that either, buddy.

*

It's Officer Cheapskate who finds me via telephone in my hotel room later that bleak Friday night. Stuck in the Great Northwest for the next week, I decide I've got nothing to lose by accepting his invitation to come out with him and some friends. As long as it's a group outing…there's no way I want to be alone with him. And wow, I could sooo use a beer. Maybe he'll be less annoying when I'm drunk.

I meet the crowd at Bleachers. I'm introduced to three girls, whose names I immediately forget, and a couple, whose names I also forget. The girls become the Unnamed Triplets in my head. The couple? Swinger and Wife. And then there's OC. Oh well. It's a crowd to hang out with and pass the time on a Friday night.

Someone keeps ordering shots, and before we decide to leave Bleachers headed for karaoke, we've taken three of them. Some sort of Jager mix thing. No clue what it is. I wonder if El Cheapo is paying the tab--or if he knows someone here too? My pondering is interrupted by yet another loud story-telling moment from Swinger on my left.

"HAVE YOU SEEN MY WIFE?!" he asks the table--and perhaps the rest of the bar. "SHE IS SO HOT!"

Yes, we've seen your wife, I want to answer. She's sitting right next to you. But I still can't remember her stupid name. Apparently neither can he. He continues to refer to her as "my wife" for the rest of the night. We're treated to a discussion--and then display--of his wife's thong.

"Isn't she SEXY?!" he yells. I nod and smile. Just keep nodding and smiling, I tell myself.

We've decided to karaoke, but no one's driving after those shots. So we wait outside Bleachers for a cab that takes its sweet time getting there. I point out that there are seven of us and usually cabs only accommodate four. Apparently that doesn't matter here. The cab pulls up and lets us all pile in. Unfortunately, Wife is next to me and Swinger is up front, and they have to hold on to each other over the seat.

"Dude, seriously, GET A ROOM! No making out on top of me, please," I tell them, as they paw at each other.

It turns out we don't have enough time to get to the karaoke bar and get on the list, so we have to go to some cheesy bar downtown. Downtown Medford? I didn't think there was such a thing. It's called The Zone or something equally dorky. We get out of the cab and the Unnamed Triplets go to Triplet I's car and start putting on lipstick and dropping off purses and jackets. Wife is sitting on the curb looking positively green. I'd be feeling that way too after three of those shots and then making out with Swinger. Triplets I and II decide to stay with Swinger and Wife, who is about to hurl at any moment. Triplet III comes with me and OC, since her boyfriend works at the club. I wish I could spend my Friday nights following Big Guy around The Zone! I notice that right next door to the bar is the mattress store. Well, I guess that's convenient if you can't make it all the way home.

OC insists on paying my cover and then buying me a beer. Ewwww. Oh no. It seems that I have underestimated my cuteness yet again. Damn if that doesn't get me in trouble all the time. As long as we stay with the Triplets, I think, we'll be fine…

On the dance floor, Eminem is bumping from the speakers. It's like a high school prom out there on the floor: lots of white girls and boys trying to bust a move. Where are the people that can dance? Oh, that's right…they don't live here in Medford. The rest of the Triplets arrive and force me to the dance floor with them. I'm sure everyone is jealous of my gorgeous and sassy moves. I make sure to dance away from OC and closer to the Triplets.

I need a break from dancing. OC follows me, but the Triplets disappear. I stare uncomfortably at my beer as he suggests leaving so we can sing karaoke. What now? I'm not going anywhere with this dude. He is enjoying watching me put my sweaty hair into a clip. Clearly El Cheapo is smitten. I mumble something about not wanting to leave the Triplets, who mercifully return. Then Swinger shows up. Apparently Wife puked in the cab on the way home, then puked at home and told him to get the hell out of there.

"So here I am!" He is excited and he, too, wants to sing karaoke. He pounds his drink. I think there is safety in numbers and that the Triplets are coming with us, so we leave The Zone or The Joke or whatever the hell it's called and venture to the karaoke bar.

We end up walking to the stupid karaoke bar and when we get there, it turns out there is barely time to put our names on the list. Some weird guy stumbles over to our table and stares my lips.

"Wow. Those lips are amazing," he tells me, and the OC jumps in.

"We're married! Isn't she hot?! Look, we've had two kids and look at her--she looks amazing, right?"

Double Ew. Oh damn, how did I get here? I just wanted to have a beer. And sing. Is that so wrong?

"We're not married. I don't even know this guy. And thank you very much for the compliment." I try and cover my mouth. Weird Guy will not get away from the table. He just keeps staring at my lips and declaring his awe and amazement.

Somehow we decide a different karaoke bar would be better, so next thing I know we're in the parking lot waiting for another cab. Oh great. It's the "Let's Pick Up Shakira and See How Heavy She Is" Game. Both OC and Swinger decide to put me over one shoulder and guess my weight. I try and puke on each of them, but it doesn't work.

I grab the front seat in the cab and they give directions to the next place. "Where the hell are we? I don't want to be kidnapped, girlnapped, catnapped, kitten-napped…no napping in any way," I tell the cabbie. Where is my hotel? It would be so nice to get OFF this crazy train.

At the next bar, I head immediately for the bathroom, giving my drink order to The Stupid People.

Swinger keeps opening the bathroom door and yelling at me. "Shakiiiirrra! Stoli-WHAT?"

"Stoli-Tonic! It's VODKA TONIC! Can a girl just put on lipstick? Get out of here!"

I'm peeing when Swinger opens the door again. "Stoli-what?"

"I'm BUSY!" I yell. Hello? What parts of ladies' restroom and vodka tonic do these people not understand?

Back out at the table, OC is drunkenly rambling: "They're together we're together let's get together." I have a feeling it has something to do with Swinger and Wife and what OC's hoping will be me. Oy. My head already hurts. Can a hangover start early?