Molly is Not For Dogs

in

How do these people find me? One minute, I'm just a blonde girl in a sequined crop top coming back from a Lucky Cheng's midnight drag show with a hankering for a pizza and the next...a drug mule. But not in a sexy way a la Orange is the New Black. Nope. Not so lucky. Here's a transcript of how a stranger-danger, my dear bunny friend Alex and I made a new acquaintance. ME: Hey! Buddy! You better not buy that last slice of pepperoni when you've got two hungry women with their eye on it!

STRANGER DANGER: I'm getting cheese.

ALEX: That's fine. Continue, and have a quality life.

STRANGER DANGER: What did you girls do tonight?

ME: WE WENT TO A DRAG SHOW AND I HAD A LOT OF DRINKS THAT WERE NAMED AFTER NICKNAMES FOR VAGINAS! And it rained a lot! But we rallied! Because we are fun! This is a puke and rally group of girls I tell you what! ALEX:  Mr. Stranger Danger, what do you do?

STRANGER DANGER: I'm a chef at Mission Chin---

ME: MISSION CHINESE!? I want to go there more than all the things but there is always a damn line! We hate lines!

ALEX: We hate lines.

STRANGER DANGER: You girls should come tomorrow with your bachelorette group and I can hook you up with a table.

ME: YES! We'll be there!

ALEX: No.

STRANGER DANGER: Well, whatever you guys end up doing have a great night, great weekend, enjoy that pizza, and here's a little something to keep it fun. Open your hand. And don't look at what I'm putting in.

(SD puts small molly pill wrapped so cute in my hand. I obviously look directly at it.)

STRANGER DANGER: I said not to look.

ME: I know I'm sorry...what is this?

STRANGER DANGER: ...molly...e....

ME: Oh, um. Thank you so much this is incredibly generous of yo---

ALEX: We're going.

Now, I don't write about this experience to share with you my personal feelings about recreational drug use. I share because, in that one exact moment I felt very cool. Like, high school Bligh that spent most of her free time singing "We Do Not Belong Together" into a mirror practicing the Bernadette Peters single-tear technique felt very, very validated. I'm cool! ...kinda!

You know what's not cool? When you come back to your apartment and retell this story to all your friends and lose the molly. And then the next day you half-heartedly look for it, and decide maybe it got thrown away? You don't give it a second thought. Until your dog starts acting kinda weird...at first he's so lovey and running from one side of the apartment to the other being like, "Let's go to the clubs! I love my life!" And then he gets really, really sweaty and dizzy and he keeps having this totally fictional conversation with NOONE about how the government is spying on him and how he is secretly married to Rachel Ray but that we can't tell anyone. And then he sleeps for like, four days. I don't even know what that's about. But it's definitely not my fault.

If you need me, I'll be in line at Mission Chinese. Namaste.

That Time I Got Molly From a Stranger in a $1 Pizza Joint

in

...bet that title grabbed your attention, didn't it? YA WELCOME! It's a great, and very true story. And by true I mean as true as the first night of an epic bachelorette weekend remembers itself to be. BUT FIRST: the precursor to this story are more helpful hints on how to stay in NYC and give off the social media impression of a glamorous/hipster/"No, my Dad does NOT pay my Netflix account"/well-adjusted city girl lifestyle that we all so covet! It's easy! The secret? Make the right friends. THE TOP FOUR RELATIONSHIPS YOU NEED TO CULTIVATE IN NYC:

1.) Your tailor.

-Doesn't seem so necessary at first, but then I started to realize people who wear clothes that fit them always look chic. I'ma tell you a secret. Anything I buy from the Burlington Coat Factory (and there are a great many things) goes straight to my tailor. Because then it looks legitimately fancy. And it fits. And my guy is CHEAP. Yeah, he told me he's from Argentina and yet he speaks with a strong German accent. And I could choose to worry bout it, OR I could not question it, smile everytime he tries to pronounce my name, and he could fix my grandmother's luxe mink swing coat for half-off for no apparent reason!

2.) The Woman/Man Who Works at Your Train Stop Counter During Rush-Hour

- ....I feel like this needs no explanation. These people are not happy humans. But that's because everyone is always yelling at them! Smile biddies! Smile at your MTA station workers! They are the ones who will break that $20 bill "just this one more time Bligh" and they are they ones that will tell you that the L train, indeed, is not ever coming to the 1st Ave stop...ever. So walk your ass to 8th Ave and smile because you have a Subway hookup.

3.) Your Local Liquor Store Owner

-If I write about this man for too long I'm going to get emotional. I call him "My Friend" and he calls me "Bubbly" (a la Champagne). We get each other. He has met my mother. He has met both of my brothers. I will take my next serious boyfriend to meet him. He never ever ever lets me pay full price for a bottle of wine. Actually, he usually just asks what I can afford this week (read: day) and he grabs my favorite rose and GIVES IT TO ME ANYWAYS. He says he does this because he has a daughter who wanted to be a dancer and he wouldn't let her go to college for dance. So she went to pharmaceutical school instead, and now he says she is sad. Thank you, My Friend.

4.) The Dudes at your $1 Pizza Joint

- Did you know that at a certain hour of the night they start giving away pizza? The good places do! 2 Bros is not as good about this, so I suggest finding a smaller, independently owned (read: sketchy) $1 pizza chain nearest to you. Make sure you ALWAYS make this  your drunk food stop numero uno! You will meet the most interesting people! For my good biddies, this, this is where a stranger gave me molly.

...this post is wicked long. I need more coffee. Stay tuned for the incidental molly story. Thanks much and namaste.