A few months back I was leaving work. And by work I mean grinding bails of hay while wearing tiny jean shorts, cowboy boots, and a piece of cloth that my bosses called a shirt. This all took place at a trainwreck called ‘Rockin Country Nights’ at the Whiskey-a-gogo.

They called us the GoGo Cowgals and our job was to horny up the gents and piss off their girlfriends in between ‘rockin’ country bands I’ve never heard of. I don’t know about you but when I find out that my dignity can be sold for one hundred dollars a night, I drink. Don’t judge me.

Lucky for me the cowgals drink for free. I’m assuming the reason for this was to loosen us up for the evening of whoring we had ahead of us.

A few things they didn’t realize is this cowgal can drink. This cowgal has trouble walking away from an open bar. And this cowgal might have, what they call in the old west, a drinking problem.

Needless to say I took full advantage of the free vodka, tequila and whatever else they threw at me.
Soon their plan worked. I forgot all about my soft core porn outfit and I worked that hay bale. I forgot about the audience, mostly male and older than my father. I even forgot about the perverted things that they were probably imagining about me and my fellow cowgals. Only reminded once by a cowboy, who questioned in a southern twang(which seemed odd in LA) “How do I get them jean shorts job?” Charmer.

Later that evening I found a couple of those cowboys to be almost bearable. I realized I had had way too much to drink. So obviously it was time to drive myself home.

I waved goodbye to my cowgals and moseyed down Sunset. Somehow I found my car. By car I mean my 98 Bravada that is missing a side mirror, one tail light and displays out of state plates. This car doesn’t exactly scream “I’m a safe driver, don’t pull me over.” Apparently, neither does swerving.

After a few field sobriety tests (all of which were very difficult to accomplish in boots and short shorts) the Los Angeles police department decided I was coming with them. Three hours later I was booked and slowly passing out in my badly lit cell in the Van Nuys county jail.

Early the next morning I awoke to find it was not a dream. Not only was I in jail I was now sober. And after not being released with the other girls I was booked with I began to panic.

Unfortunately the phone in our cell was not working. Which I was informed by a friendly female Officer Lopez was “not her problem.” She was my favorite.

The hours passed and my main concern became finding out when I was to be released, getting a hold of someone who could help and stopping those fucking cell walls from closing in on me and my soul. The only comfort came from the TV playing continuously and my cellmates, Nikki and Esmerelda.

Esmerelda had been involved in a domestic dispute in which she beat her husband with some kitchen utensils. I believe the fight began over macaroni. (Don’t they all?) Nikki had also found it necessary to beat someone. He was the officer who was trying to arrest her for possessing about a truckload of blow. This sounds like as good of reason as any to, quote, “kick him in the shit and run.”

Me and my new BFF’s spent the day together(insert odd couple music montage here) laughing, crying, but mainly watching the entire daytime lineup for the local FOX affiliate. I believe the highlight of my viewing day was the hour and a half block of cops.
The irony physically hurt me.

Soon lunch was served. I realized the main course du jour was dirty prison burritos. I thought this to be some form of cruel and unusual punishment since the only facilities available to us was a toilet attached to the cell. No walls, no privacy and sure as hell not a stop on my schedule for the day.

Out of consideration for my fellow lawbreakers I turned down the toxic, yet I’m sure filling, burrito and settled for an apple and a carton of cranberry cocktail. Esmerelda, however, did not offer the same courtesy.
Though I’ve never been, I believe a victim of prison rape would describe similar memories of what took place two burritos and a few hours later.

I remember sounds, smells and a few voices then I blacked out. When I came to I felt dirty. Damn you Esmerelda and your uneasy bowels.

After this I decided I had had enough fun for the day and called a local bail bondsman who was worth every organ I’m going to have to sell to pay him off.

Finally I was released into the free world. Dirty, broken and still in my whore uniform.

That was about 3 months ago. Currently I am waiting to go to court with my lawyer ‘Screwin you sideways Mcgee.’ (The name got my attention too.) As well as avoiding community service, court appointed AA and hoping this will all be over soon.

At least I can look forward to the next time this happens when I’m rich, famous and hitting bottom. You think Mel was bad? I see nudity, a farm animal in the car and you can bet your ass the Jews won’t be the only people getting a piece of my mind. “I’m the queen of Burbank!”

Here’s to a safe cab ride and another drink when I get home.