One bright, very hung over, Sunday morning: I woke up, caked on some MAC and packed a beach bag. I also packed my “make-up” kit.
This wasn’t any ordinary kit. This particular kit was my cocaine kit. It was a shiny, red make up bag my grandmother had given me. Inside I had what appeared to be a lip pencil. Really, it was a hollow lip liner tube that I used for snorting things. Also inside: a lovely, saliva streaked makeup mirror (I always had to lick it clean), one library card and a little, “white shimmer powder” screw top eyeshadow container. I thought I was really clever. Luckily I never got caught.
Red was not the only ginger in my life back then. There was another, her name was Orange.
Orange picked me up that day and we headed down the coast highway. We made a pit stop at our “local beauty supply” for some eyeshadow. We filled my container and headed to the beach. Once to the beach we grabbed our bags and headed to the sand. We set up camp with a huge blanket and lathered on the tanning oil. Well, I lathered on the oil. Orange, being a ginger,probably put on SPF 12,000.
Orange and I took turns passing our clever, little kit back and forth. Worried about tan lines as we sun bathed, we removed our tops, lying facedown on the sand. We were pretty high. We decided to take topless pics of each other (or probably I was just making Orange take topless pictures of me).
A little while later Orange noticed two, gay men playing soccer on the beach a few yards away. Orange being an avid soccer player and flying high on “wet’n'wild” asked if she could join the game. The three of them played for a while. Orange, feeling guilty, or possibly worried I was “putting on the rest of the makeup”, came over to the blanket I was laying on and asked me to join the game.
At this point in my life I was fat and lazy. Unless it had to do with me bouncing up and down on a stranger or doing a strip tease across a major city block, I wasn’t moving. Instead Strawberry-snort-cake and her new friends took a break and sat on our blanket.
I showed off my new “Camera Phone”. Our new friends asked if I would mind taking a few pics of the two of them. I did, and I sent the pics to one of their email addresses (he hadn’t yet gotten a picture phone, they had just come out. I was SUPER COOL that day). I thought it would be really funny to include some of the topless pics of myself from earlier without telling him, so I did!
The sun was getting low and it was starting to get cold. We said our goodbyes and Orange and I headed into the sunset AKA to Orange’s parents house for dinner. Once there we ate, we drank, we laughed and then we snuck into the bathroom together to “powder our noses”. I set up our “make up station” and Orange sat down to take a piss.
That’s when it happened.
I will never forget! At the very moment I was snorting up my “pixie dust”, Orange tooted! Along with my “magical powder”, I took up my nose that night, the smell of her garlic eating, wine hangover, taco bell lunch having, ginger anus.
I have never felt my gag reflex so strong again, in my life.
Flash forward: The next morning I awoke very early to my phone ringing. My body felt like I had fallen off the second story of a balcony (that’s another story). I looked at the caller ID, it was not work. Call denied. A second later my phone rang again. Again, I denied the call. It rang a third time. OK, someone was REALLY trying to get a hold of me.
Was it that hot guy from the Internet I slept with last week who never called? Could it be Orange, in trouble and needing my help?
I figured I should probably answer.
“Hello?” I said.
“Is this *****?” the female voice asked me.
I paused, “Uhhhh, yesssss.”
“You know Carlos?” she asked.
I thought for a moment, in my eyeshadow recovering haze. Quick flashes of the last several Saturday nights passed through my mushy brain….Nope, I didn’t know any Carlos.
“No, sorry. I don’t know anyone named Carlos.” I responded.
“You don’t know Carlos?” She asked again.
Again I said, “Nope, sorry.”
I was pretty damn sure I hadn’t boinked any Mexicans in the last few months.
That’s when it happened.
“YOU STUPID FUCKING WHORE! You send my boyfriend naked pictures of your ugly, skank self and then you pretend like you don’t know him?” She yelled at me.
She seemed mad! I still wasn’t quite catching on.
She continued, “You have blonde hair and an ugly, skanky tattoo of a fucking horse! I know what you look like! Are you listening to me, bitch? I’m going to find out where you live and I’m going to cut you!”
Uh oh! I hung up. Then it clicked. The gays! THEY WEREN’T GAY! They never said they were gay, they didn’t hold hands or anything. OOOOPS!
My phone rang again. I picked up,
“Hello?” I said.
“Don’t you fucking hang up on me, whore!”
“Hey listen”, I said, “you are talking about the gays from the beach. I only met them once and…”
She cut me off, “GAY! You know damn well he ain’t gay when you was fucking him! STUPID LYING SLUT!”
I hung up again.
I tried to dial Orange but I couldn’t, the girl was calling again! I denied the call.
This bitch was CRAZY! After roughly five minutes I turned off the phone.
I tried to go back to sleep but I couldn’t. I got out of bed and into the bath. I had work in a few hours anyway. After my bath I turned my phone back on. My voice mail box was full..WTF? Just as I was about to dial my voice mail the phone rang. It was HER!
I went to work. After a couple of hours I turned my phone back on..CRAZY BITCH WAS CALLING AGAIN! She called through my entire shift.
I left work she was still calling. I went out that night with the Fun Girls, she called, all night long she called. She called 114 times in a row at one point. I don’t think more than two hours total passed between her calls at the peak of her longest break.
It was the damnedest thing!
She called me non-stop FOR THREE days. I don’t know how she found the energy. By the end of the third day I had had too much. I was exhausted, overwhelmed and wondering if she had found my house yet. I was looking out my window, shaking. I was looking over my shoulders constantly in public. I was worn down. Nothing was going to stop her. I debated changing my number but I used it for work. That was to be my last resort.
I went to the police station.
Officer Grant called her back. I don’t know what he said to her but it worked. She finally stopped calling.
Now, I want you know that I did not learn from this experience.
I have not stopped sending nudie pictures to strangers.
I did stop snorting lines when Orange was taking a piss though. So, there’s that.
This was probably the Karma I earned for obsessively calling Donut the first time he dumped me.
Ahhhhhhh….Donut! How I LOVE to think of thee!
*sighs and bats lashes*