The Nadir of My Nights in D.C

Nadir is a word I learned from my SAT coach in high school. She was a good teacher.

So, as promised, here is what happened the night I got arrested.

I hadn't planned on going out. I had planned on staying home, getting nice and toasty on some vodka alone...vodka because it was a Saturday night and I drink vodka on the weekends.... and either do lesson plans or write on here but most likely not do any lesson plans cuz I'm a huge procrastinator.

But it just happened to be my male acquaintance's girlfriend's birthday, who, I might add turned some age over 30, and the male acquaintance I know is kinda a douchebag....and I'm so confused on why someone over 30 would date a dude like him cuz I'm almost 30 and I would never date a guy like him...boink, maybe....but not date.

Since I hadn't gone out last weekend, I felt a little....restless. And after my first attendance at the Smart Recovery meeting, I thought I had enough sense and willpower to be good and limit the drinking on a night out.

I had five goals in mind that evening:

1. Do not drink more than 5 drinks, which includes my trademark pre-drinking beverage: a 2/3 vodka/cranberry with shrunken ice cubes so that they can fit neatly in my water bottle. 
2. Do not spend more than $20. 
3. Do not be mean to my other white male acquaintance whom I always lash out simply because, well... he won't give me a chance... and if he did, he would fall under the Iroar-spell.... pussy. 
4. Do not get kicked out of the bar. 
5. In line with all those, do not get crazy.

Needless to say, only number 3 happened. 

So, I make my trademark cranberry/vodka drink to carry with me so I don't have to spend $223948234 on drinks cuz drinks in DC are fucking unnecessarily expensive. Everything was going swimmingly. I rode the Metro without a hitch. I was charming and entertaining to the people I was with: my roommate and the guy from #3. We were discussing the 'swastika' on my buddhist bracelet and shooting the shit like white people like to do. 

It was snowing...like swirling snowing cuz it was so fucking windy. By the time I unloaded myself off the Metro, I was nice and toasty but definitely 50% sober....enough to be social without uncomfortable barriers. 

We end up at the first bar, Solly's which was right across the street. It was like sardines in a can. I fucking hate PACKED bars...like really. What is SO awesome about a place that you are shoulder-to-shoulder with everyone else in the bar, it's hot as balls, I keep butting everyone with my huge bun, and it takes 30 minutes to get a drink from the bar? I would MUCH rather be at an empty bar with a bearded creepy fellow staring at me from across the bar because eventually, I will end up conversing with him and he'd be far more interesting than any other young banal idiot at the bar I was at.

So I drink one more drink and we leave to go to a reggae club. 

DING DING DING! How can I go wrong at a reggae club? Even though I'm not into reggae that much, at the moment, I'm a reggae poseur. 

We walk to the reggae bar, something that has a 'Boom Boom' in its bar name. The entire time there, I'm like 65% sober and I'm talking with a girl who is a professional boxer, and of course, I'm enthralled. Any female that is not a basic bitch and is into beating other people to a pulp for a profession is cool in my book. 

Sure enough. Right when we step into the Boom Boom Room, I can tell it's totally up my alley. The guys are all black and somewhat hot (especially the employees). The other patrons include fat and mostly ugly black and some-kind-of-hispanic girls. We are the only non-black people there. It's packed, but not that packed so I was content. The music is loud as FUCK and I'm almost tempted to ball up pieces of napkins and stuff them in my ears to muffle the sound--a tip that my sister Sawa taught me.  

I order a vodka with a splash of cranberry drink for myself and a round for the other people I was with. The three bartenders are all attractive, tall, and black. I can tell the one serving me is taken with me...and he is so attractive, he makes my stomach kinda flutter.  

**sidenote: I normally NEVER get male-attention at the bar. They are either too scared of me or just not into me. But these guys at this club were the opposite. I'm not sitting here being all conceited. Let's be real. A lot of black guys are into Asian girls. Throw in an Asian girl with non-conventional style and DREADS, and it's over. Even if I looked like this: 

the fact that I have dreads and wear funky clothes, they'd still be wanting to lick my butthole. So it's not that much of a compliment.

But anyways, I dance/move-around a little with my white roommate. The bouncer walks by. He has huge muscles. Whenever I see a guy with huge muscles and I'm intoxicated, I mime-grab his muscles. I don't know why. It's an inclination I get. *shrugs* I do that to his pectorals. 

He seems mildly amused. He asks me for my name and where I'm from. I say "it's Ira" and flash the ATL sign. (Sign #1 I'm drunk).  

Then I think I get more drunk...like 75%. I order two more drinks from the cute bartender who is beaming at me but I'm too drunk to be charming. At this point, it's drink #5 and I'm 90% drunk... this means my memory is foggy. 

I go downstairs to pee. A girl is waiting. I tell her to come in with me. We use the bathroom together and have some conversations about God-knows-what (I'm SUPER nice to girls in the bathrooms). 

Now, I'm like 15% conscious. 

I guess I was harassing the bouncer til the point where he said I had to leave. I must've grabbed my tweed coat from upstairs and meandered outside. 

There is a cop car outside. 

*something happens*

The next thing I know, the black cop is putting cuffs on me. I start flailing around. It's slippery outside so I'm slipping and sliding and yelling "Police brutality!!! Help meeeeee!" I'm laughing and screaming at the same time like a fucking crazy woman. There are people walking by looking shocked and amused. I hope to God nobody is taping me with their phones. I'm yelling at them to help me and save me from the cop. The cop is telling me "stop resisting arrest!" I'm responding with: "you're hurting meeeeee! Stoppppp! I didn't do anythiiiiiiiing!" 

Soon, I'm in a police-truck. The cop says "You're going to jail." I'm moaning and drooping my head from side to side. I remember the interior of the truck resembles a meat locker. I think, "fuckkkkkkk." I say, "I just wanna go to sleeeeep." 

The cop goes away for what seems like 10 minutes. I fall asleep in the back of the truck. The next thing I know, we've arrived at some place and the cop is dragging me into a small building. The handcuffs are hurting my wrists. There are two female cops in the building. They are looking into my face quite closely. I say, "I want to sleeeeeeep" and mutter something about my brother being in prison. At this point, I'm crying. They make me take off all my earrings and undo my shoes and confiscate my shoestrings.  

They put me in a tiny jail cell. It has a metal bunk-bed with no mattress, pillows, or blankets. There's graffiti alllll over the place and a metal toilet. I look at the toilet and mutter, "deeeeesgusting" even tough I have to pee. I flop onto the metal 'bed' and fall asleep, sobbing. 

I assume this was all around 1 am. 

The jail door opens. "M'am, c'mon out please."  

Now I'm delirious. My head feels foggy. I'm 60% sober. They ask me for my ID and start fingerprinting me. I'm rolling my head around saying "I'm a teacher.... please let me go..." The white female cop says something about my being a teacher and being responsible. She says I'm free to go and hands me a plastic bag with all my stuff in it. I stumble out. It's fucking freezing and I'm crying. 

I hail down two different police cars and ask them for a ride. They say no. 

I see a taxi cab who stops right away. I climb in and ask him how much it'll cost to get to College Park. He says it'll cost $60. I yell, "what the fuck! It normally costs $40!" He says that it's snowing so I have to pay more. I have no cash so he says he'll take me to an ATM. I withdraw $65 at some gas station. I cry all the way home and call Michael, Sara, and Anna. 

It takes FOREVER.  

I FINALLY get home at 4:30. I throw my scrunched up $20 bills at the cabdriver. He says, "but wait! I like you." I ignore him and and it takes me 4 tries to get into my front door. 

I update my blogger, wash my face, brush my teeth, and fall asleep. 

The next morning, I'm hungover. I tell my roommate where I ended up. Later, I call Michael and we break up because a guy like him doesn't deserve a hot mess like me. I hate myself. I call the "DC Police Department" who says I've been charged with "simple battery" and "destruction of property" and that someone bailed me out. I'm totally confused because NOBODY bailed me out and I definitely didn't bail myself out. 

I'm still confused and wondering if I was really charged. I'm scared to death and I don't want to pay any extra fines or jeopardize my future career.

But it's my fault. I need to do something about this. Thank GOD it wasn't a DUI though. 

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This sucks. But I must say, something about it was funny. In the plastic bag labeled 'evidence' that was returned to me after I was released, I found this:

A little pebble.Why would they put this in there as though it was important to me? Hahahahaha.

Now whose dick do I have to suck to get outta these charges? :/