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In my mid twenties, I drank a LOT. I also snorted cocaine. I never snorted alone, I always had company. Most often my partner in crime was Red. Red, much like myself at the time, wore a size 12 and walked around a bit swollen in the face from the over consumption of booze. Much like myself, she had fabulous shoes! Where I was a platinum blonde mess, she was red, with short curls that belonged in a broadway play or perhaps a comic strip. Unlike me Red could hold her alcohol. At any given point in time regardless of what or how much Red consumed she could put-on a straight face and fool anyone into believing she was a perfectly square and innocent, designated driver. This came in handy often. Especially when I was skipping around intoxicated, naked and out of control in public, pissing on anything I could find. You may think I am exaggerating the point, I am not.

Red and I were not always alone in our chaos creating, we also ran in a pack. We called our pack, “The Fun Girls.”

After 1 seafood eating, 17 margarita drinking lunch (on a hangover) with Red, she invited me to a WWE Wrestling match with her. Her brother and his friends had an extra ticket. I excitedly accepted their amazing offer (This may very well be where my mullet obsession all began)!

wwe

Once we arrived at the match we were seated next to some random, tall bombshell. She was wearing jeans and a New England’s Patriots jersey. She had long, blonde, wavy hair that almost reached her HASSS. She was our age, a year or two younger. Red and I introduced ourselves, her name was Bassten. We found out Bassten was new to California, she just arrived from the East Coast and was starting school. She was dating Red’s, brother’s friend. Other than these boys, she didn’t know anyone in the state. After a few minutes of convo Red and I discovered we had finished our beers. We excused ourselves, explaining our mission to Bassten.

That’s when it happened!

Bassten picked up what looked to be an enormous, “Big Gulp” sized cup of beer and handed it to me!

“Here,” she said.
“You can have this one. Deeze guys buy em for me fasta’ than I can drink em!”

This is where I batted my eyes and little hearts started floating around the room….not really, but you get the point. Starting that night the three of us were inseparable.

After the match Red and I, along with our new alcohol loving friend, headed out to a bar. Before we hopped in the car, I stumbled upon a crushed box next to a rusty, fly infested dumpster. PERFECT! There was my spot. I pulled my panties down and unleashed my yellow river of 98.7 degree beer in the parking lot. Bassten was not used to my behavior yet. She thought this was incredible and snapped a picture.

image

Once upon dive bar arrival, Red told us about a girl she had just met at work. She thought maybe she should call and see if this girl wanted to join us. Bassten and I were so fucked up at that point we loved everyone! Of course we agreed with this plan.

A little while later a chubby blonde with amazing cheek bones walked in. This girl reminded me of a girl I dated (experimentally) a few years prior. I immediately developed a small girl-crush. She was wearing a long, black skirt and a violet shirt with three buttons on the top and a little embroidered deer on the far, right corner. She immediately said hello. We did our introductions. Her name was flowa’, thats right, fla-oww-wa. I bought her, what would later become our signature cocktail, an apple martini. After a few drinks our new friend looked down at her shirt.

In a sudden panic she exclaimed:

“OMG! What the fuck is on my shirt!? Is that a fucking DEER? I hate deer! I’m deathly afraid of deer! You girls all look so hot and I look like an old lady in this skirt and now I realize there’s a DEER on me!”

That’s when it happened!

I did what any caring, slurred speech having, drunken whore would do! I reached right over and ripped off her shirt. Not completely. Just enough to expose her milky, white tata’s and tuck what was left of the god forsaken deer away.

Flowa’ didn’t give a shit. She laughed.

The Fun Girls were born.

4 thoughts on “Red Deer from Boston

  1. Pingback: The Fun Girls | It's not my fault.

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