RATCHET

                I checked out a guy at work for a good five minutes before I realized he was mentally handicapped. I was mortified… That I didn’t get his number. I feel like most people know what the word “ratchet” means. Black people think to themselves, “Obviously. She ratchet.” White people think, “A socket wrench, duh. I’ll stop by Menards on my way home from Panera and pick one up.” Well, I’m white and I didn’t know what it meant for some time and I spelled it r-a-c-h-e-t until I looked up the proper spelling on urbandictionary.com right before I wrote this example.

               My life the past four months has been the embodiment of this word. Hence, making sexy eyes at a hotty with an endocrine imbalance. I can’t help it. I want to celebrate. I mean, I’m graduated (basically). I’m young (36 in gay years). I have a good job (nope). I have a job (nope). So I should be able to do whatever I want whenever I want. *He opens the top of a box of wine, pulls out the bag, and squeezes the rest of the Franzia into his mouth like Frodo on the dry slopes of Mount Doom.

                One example of what I’m talking about is the night I spent some quality time with my neighbors. My friend, Nelly was with me and we were out of alc so we stopped by their place to “catch up” and “be friends.” So I have a straight raspberry vodka (straightest thing about me) and I’m playing entertainer and saying offensive and horrible things and I say, “Just let me know if anything I say is over the line.” And the apartment in consensus says, “It’s all over the line but you’re hilarious!” And I’m like, “I know.” So then, these girls walk in and they’re talking to the boring roommate, Bryan, so I’m not paying attention to anything they’re saying. Keep in mind these girls are wearing tube dresses and six inch gold hooker heels. So then the girls leave and I don’t remember saying this but apparently I shouted, “You guys paid for prostitutes and didn’t even have sex with them?” Bryan looks at me and says, “That was my sister.” Then, I say, “Oh. How big is her pussy?” RATCHET. I can’t believe I didn’t get beat up that night. But they encouraged meeee!!! No big. Got smashed. Didn’t get my face smashed. Got kicked out, though.

                People are always like, “You can’t drink alcohol and lose weight.” I keg to differ. Just eat two packets of Raman a day with Diet Dr. Pepper and a handful of peanuts. Then you can afford the calories and the drinks! Seriously, it works. I lost fifteen pounds.

                I went to a Christmas party this year and the party was themed, “Gay Christmas.” I wanted my friend Ryan to be Joseph because Joseph was obviously gay. He was! Mary was the chosen one, right?  And she was a virgin her whole life, right? And then God had to work his magic just to get her pregnant, right?! Just sayin’. Anyway, there are only homos and girls at this party so it was a psychologist’s wet dream. We’re having a good time and after everyone’s had a couple drinks this couple walks in. I know Matt but I hadn’t met his new boyfriend, Taylor yet. Taylor is one of the thinnest people I have ever met. He looked like a Kaminoan from Star Wars. But in a good way!

They make the proper introductions and they’re there for only about five minutes before I shout, “LET’S PLAY A GAME!” And everyone’s like, “Ok.” And I say, “I think we should all take bets on how much Taylor weighs!” Then, another homo, Stephen yells at everyone to wait and he runs to grab a scale. And then we actually made him do it. AND I WON THE GAME! I was only four pounds off. He was 5’11 and weighed 125lbs. It’s not bullying if it’s funny.

                I watched a kid pee into a plastic bag in front of me. When he was done, he handed the bag to his mother and she put it in her purse. That’s how people roll at Disney. I hope the bag broke open while she rode the ride.

                My friends and I went to the gay bar a couple weeks ago and Jen got kicked out. Isn’t that the most embarrassing? How do you get kicked out of a gay bar? I’ll tell you, she fell asleep leaning against a wall.

                I saw Steven Tyler at work. He was short. And ratchet.

                I accidentally sprayed a little girl in the face with silly string at Wal-mart.

Nelly and I went to a paint party in November and that night may have been the most ratchet night of my life. We began by taking the party bus to this bar in downtown Orlando. By the time we arrived we had successfully shared a bottle of cake vodka. We received four free drinks thanks to Nelly’s persuasion. We only enjoyed two of them because we kept falling over. The floor was slippery with paint, rum, and regrets!

I woke up the next day with green pubes. Every hair follicle on my body was encrusted with a rainbow selection of paints. I discovered later that I had a terrible cut on my arm that I told everyone was a zombie bite. I tried to start a fight with a stupid girl and then pretended that it was her fault and then everyone was on my side. I made out with Nelly while she peed up against a wall. Twice. (The cops were out to play so we were keepin our bladders on the DL).

What have we learned about being ratchet? You lose all sense of discrimination. Not only have I checked out that mentally handicapped guy, I’ve also been more open minded to sleeping with cab drivers, clowns, boring people, sleeping people, dead people, Flava Flav, and horses.