I got in a fight with a drag queen at my sister’s bachelorette party.
It started off as a fine night. A Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, where Lana had planned for us to drink Texas Tea and make fucked-up hats and hit the gay bars. There would be scavenger hunts for shots and penis candy and dancing and MERRIMENT.
What people typically do, right?
Yeah, no. I went too far.
At first, is was just us gals, sitting on the floor hot gluing banana-scented dicks to straw hats and pipe cleaners like we were Lady Gaga’s costume crew. It was all twats and glitter, and all was well in the land.
And then, Lana broke out the Texas Tea.
Y’all, that was the strongest shit I have ever drank in my life. It was like Jack Daniels took you to Vegas to party then kicked you in the face. In your mouth. That’s what she said.
What should have been a tad bit of whiskey in some cranberry juice was actually a fifth of Jack, a handle of black-market Vodka, and a Phoenix tear of cranberry juice. It was fucking magic.
I didn’t really feel all that drunk at first, but as we were loading up into the TrailBlazer, it hit me. I sat in the cargo hold (I know it’s dangerous, shut your face), and quietly laughed to myself for the entire half hour ride to the clubs. I just kept getting more and more drunk the longer I sat alone, allowing my body to absorb the alcohol. No one tried to engage me as I sat like a crazy person, staring out the back window, waving to people behind us.
This was a mistake on the part of those in the group with me. When hammered, I should always be in motion. This constant motion keeps me busy, and unable to concoct plans and a shitty attitude for the rest of the night, leaving me without ammo for potentially poor interactions, where I think I’m charming while, in reality, am just this side of arrest-able.
Once inside, I was suddenly entranced with how many dicks I saw. There were dicks galore. It looked like the Mid-West, if the Mid-West farmed dicks instead of wheat.
“Grace, there’s a lot of wangs around me.”
“Noa, shut the fuck up, you’re yelling.”
“THERE ARE DICKS AT EYE LEVEL.”
The reward of the scavenger hunt is, as mentioned, shots. The more you find, the more you drink. It became my mission to find every damn thing on that list. I KNEW THIS WAS THE REWARD ON THE CAR RIDE THERE. Do you see why I shouldn’t be left alone? I was planning, y’all, planning.
So, one by one, my drunk ass sprinted all over the bar with my team, picking up someone’s panties, a phone number, a condom, lipstick, and collecting shots, shots, shots, shots.
At some point, my body acknowledged that I had taken in around 5 gallons of liquid in one hour, and had not gone to the bathroom. I walked inside, and immediately saw a spectacular sight.
She was probably 7 feet tall in her heels. Wearing a gold dress and a killer wig–bitch was WORKIN’ IT while dancing in the mirror. As she was re-packing the wang and straightening her wig, I made the offhand comment, “Bitch, you look good.”
This is the last part of the conversation that made any sense to me. I was being genuine–she really looked good. But, as said before, I shouldn’t be left alone to soak in booze, lest I say something shitty later on.
Apparently, what she heard was, “bitch, uuuuaghakkkndndndnndd.”
Golden Drag Queen: “Girl, WHAT DID YOU SAY?”
Me: “I said, you look good.”
Golden Drag Queen: “I KNOW you didn’t just say some shit in my face in here. I will kick your skinny ass like you have never SEEN before, HO.”
Y’all, I totally believed her. She was right in my face, backed up against a wall, and we were the only ones in the bathroom. She really was going to kick my fucking ass, because I was a slurring idiot.
I didn’t stay to pee. I ran back up to Grace and Lana, innocently dancing on a pole in the middle of some shirtless men.
Me: “We gotta go.”
Lana: “Why? What the fuck did you do?”
Me: “I got in a fight with a Drag Queen.”
Me: “Really, we should go.”
As they stood there, mouths agape at my stupidity, THERE SHE CAME AROUND THE CORNER. I’ve never seen someone sprint so fast in heels so tall, but we hauled our asses out of there.
Later, in Whataburger:
Grace: “Did it seem like a good idea at the time?”
Me: “She picked the fight with me.”
Grace: “She was 7 feet tall.”
Me: “All I said was she looked good, WHICH SHE DID, and she got huffy.”
Lana: “I wish we could go anywhere without you two requiring us to duck and cover from someone.”
Lana, that day will come.