Current mood:	Conflicted
Current music:	"You're the Only One that Stuck it Out Lastnight"

There is Something Utterly Unmagical About Still Being Trashed at 2 the Day After
There is so much about lastnight I should write about. Being a drunk bitch. Chugging shots at the bar with X's on the back of my hands & an underage armband clearly in sight. How discusting it made me feel. How impowered. My manager. "It's business, Hon" & His hands. Whispering in my ear. being stroked like a lover. Feeling like a whore & reveling in it, playing it up. His commands. One night being like it should have been. The guys. The drinks. Him. Showing off tattoos. Loosing my tights. The 5 people that tried to follow us home. The Stairs. Falling asleep while throwing up. The horrifying excitement of the complete lack of mind-to mouth filter. The drugs. The drugs. Going to work so drunk that I kept falling down. The rumor that was started. My big 'ol southern fried texan woman manager force feeding me fried chicken to sober me up. Being too drunk at lunchtime to drive home so I can throw up in the comfort of my own home. The disappointing lack of buttsex. Those horrible revilations you have when blitzed. Dancing. "This young lady has scars else where on her body". Being friskey at the bar. Flirting. Cherries. My bar tab mysteriously going from $236 to $0. $53 tip. Wanting so bad to run away & never come back to work, my parents, live life in a constant spiral downwards. The trainwreck like appeal that makes me want to cultivate the addiction. Still being dizzy at 9:30 the following night, a full 24 hours after the drinking began.