SOBER IN THE CITY

Sara, This is Your (Effed Up) Life

April 8th at 11:53PM by Sara [120 comments]

A week ago, I woke up on my bathroom floor in a pool of an icky mixture of vomit and blood. I had bruises that were already forming on my cheeks (one on my face and a rather large one on my...well, you can guess where).

I glanced down at my body, careful not to move my head too much, on account of the very real possibility that it might explode at any moment, and noticed that my shirt was gone.

Huh.

If I had a dollar for every time I'd woken up topless lately, I might've actually been able to afford the overpriced, closet-sized apartment I was living in.

I could hear the TV blaring from my living room-slash-bedroom-slash-kitchen, and pulled myself up to a sitting position.

Right about now, you're probably thinking, "Holy cow, this girl was attacked last night!" And although the events of the night before were more than a little foggy, I'm pretty sure my ass had actually been kicked by the half jug of vodka I'd insisted on guzzling before the must-see TV lineup had even started.

I groaned and stood up on shaky legs, forcing myself to look in the mirror.

Ew.

The person staring back at me looked horrible. Sort of like a half-dead zombie girl who'd been run over by a dumpster truck...And then, maybe backed over a few times just to make sure she was really dead. The words "Coyote Ugly" came to mind.

The room spun as I followed the noise from the TV—an early morning infomercial—and stumbled over a pizza box that was lying open in the middle of my New York apartment.

So, I guess I ordered pizza last night. Again.

That would explain some of the stains that had embedded themselves into my sweats.

God, I hope I still had my shirt on when the delivery guy came by with the pizza. Talk about a good tip.

I heard my phone beep to the theme song from "Sex and the City," announcing that I had a new text message. My stomach automatically filled with dread.

Please tell me I didn't drunk-text anyone last night, I prayed as I got down on my hands and knees and crawled around looking for my cell. I finally found it under my bed, in the pocket of my hoodie.

I took a deep breath and opened my phone, preparing for the worst.

After a few clicks I realized I'd passed "worst" about six hours before and had managed to enter into "screwed without passing GO or collecting $200," quickly thereafter.

The first text in my inbox was from my ex, Sam:

From: Sam

Delivered: Mar 31, 8:32pm

As tempting as it sounds to have another turn at your "sweet ass," I dont think my new gf Kristi would be so happy bout it. Thanks for the offer tho...

I started to sweat a little, but clicked to the next text.

From: Tara

Delivered: Mar 31, 8:49pm

Did u go out for Happy Hour or somethin 2nite? Shoulda told me and I woulda gone 2. And no, I DON'T think a booty call with Sam is a good idea.