#TBT

Sometimes you have tricks up your sleeve.  Sometimes you go sleeveless.  There are days when it's hard to tell the difference between the fools and the fooling.
And then some days you wake up with a chihuahua in your purse.

It was 2002-ish and I had a schedule to keep. Each night of the week, yes even Sundays, I had a different place to go.  My crew and I stuck to the schedule religiously, sometimes for me it actually was a job.  I guess the term for it now is 'promotions', but I just considered myself a bar whore.
On Wednesdays it was "alternative" night at an otherwise obnoxious straight club.  And every Wednesday there we were, getting shitfaced on 151 soaked cherries and shots of whatever--probably something with pussy in the name. One particular night we decided to get some blow, but there was some sort of shortage due to an unfortunate Ajax rumor. So my queen of the moment decided he'd get himself hooked up with a known crystal dealer.
Now, let me explain-I have a reputation to keep. Before anyone really knew what a meth lab was, or that they were usually in trailers, and that makers and users frequenting said meth labs looked like walking pustules, crystal-or glass as we called it-was always the convenient and cheaper alternative to cocaine when the more glamorous option wasn't available.  As soon as word got out that it destroyed your face and your grill, the gays stopped snorting it immediately.
So...we got our rocks but it turns out my friend wasn't just looking to score drugs, he was looking to score.  Unable to convince him it wasn't a good idea to go to a meth dealer's house, I somehow thought it was better if we both went.
The last thing I remember was dozing off in a chair at the house, which was beautiful by the way, with a tiny dog named Sugar in my lap.  I woke up the next morning in my friend's bed, trying to recollect some things, placing exactly where I was, and hoping we were both wearing some sort of pants. My eyes wandered to my purse, a slouchy hobo that was popular then, and felt some relief when it came into focus.  Until I saw it move.  I thought I was still just bleary, but I sobered up pretty quickly when I saw my purse was. fucking. moving.  So, weak kneed from the night before and hoping that the hangover shits wouldn't hit me when I stood up, I so very carefully made my way over to where it sat.  And found Sugar inside it, looking like she was going to have the best day ever.
Turns out my friend decided she should come with us, but around 2 in the afternoon I guess her real Dad discovered she was missing.  He called us first-although I'm not sure what made us look like dog thieves. There were some threats and lip smacking exchanged and in the end I headed home and left my drug buddy to take Sugar back home.  I hope she had the best day ever.