When I was nine, I was in a really lame Girl Scout troop.
The weird Tim Burton helicopter mom who ran our meetings interpreted the scouting motto, "Be prepared," as "Be prepared to be bored out of your fucking skull." We spent an entire meeting on magnets once. I think we actually earned a badge for NUTRITION. Nutrition! God. My poor, spent youth.
Thankfully, my troop attended the big end-of-year campout, a long weekend with bunch of other local chapters who converged at a disgusting KOA to learn real, valuable life skills, like how to pee standing up without getting any on your drawers and what to do if confronted by a wild animal*.
It was here that I learned the true meaning of Scout preparedness, which handy much later down the pike, when I graduated from Brownie, to whore.
That's right, skanks. I'm talking about the walk of shame. And no, I don't call it a "stride of pride." I was raised Catholic, not in that weird cult that Joaquin Phoenix grew up in.
I've been single for a million years, and I divide my time between New York City and a small town. I'm basically the little kid from "Family Circus" of negotiating terrain with lube in your bangs.
I can ho stroll to work at a large office building or carefully home, through a series of side streets, avoiding bosses, exes, neighbors, or the gimlet eye of local business owners who know me by name. (Do you guys know about Main Street in a small town? It goes right down the fucking middle! No wonder it's so easy to get a bad reputation in these places. Who designed this?)
I have whorambulated up and down the avenues of most of the five boroughs (not Staten Island! Thank God). By now, I'm fairly equipped to give you advice on how to get to work or to meet your parents for brunch after a long night of wearing somebody's balls like a Lone Ranger mask.
Here's what you need in your ho-stroll kit that can fit neatly within the confines of your average Ziploc baggie, which you probably have around anyway. You big snack loving, dope smoking whore.
First, let's deal with your hangover.
Acquire a Sugar-Free Beverage
You don't want to add sugar to a hangover. I like a Vitamin Water Zero or a SOBE Lifewater because they pretend like they're delivering me vitamins (who knows if they do? Science says something in the milk ain't clean). Don't argue with me here about artificial sweeteners, OK? Oh, you'll put your tongue in some stranger's ass but you won't swallow a little Erythriol? God. Grow up.
You want to get in a dose of this important metabolism booster, or as I like to call it, Vitamin Booty. It really does help -- get a B-complex if you can, but if your stomach can't handle that, get these nifty under-the-tongue dissolving B-12 tabs from the drug store. Studies have also shown that vitamin B-12 can help combat free floating anxiety or feelings of guilt Ha ha, I know right? What guilt?
Get some of this and put it in you as soon as possible. That's what you do, isn't it?
Second, let's deal with your hygeine.
The hard core sluts among you know a Diet Coke gargle is practically like getting a full dental deep teeth cleaning, but I love these miniature toothbrushes you can buy now, like the Colgate Wisp. They come pre-toothpasted and they have a little pick on the end, so also just good to have if you eat a lot of ropy foods or taffies like I do.
This is one of my favorite "Ancient Chinese Secret, huh?" hints from Helouise. The tannic acid in tea makes it a natural antiperspirant, but it can also soak up any nasty onion pit funk from a long night of Tapping That. Seriously, stick tea bags in your armpits. I'm not kidding, it works. I like Tazo's Earl Grey for its whiff of nobility.
Facial Cleansing Wipes
I love the Rite Aid's generic brand of Neutrogena's facial wipes. I carry them pretty much everywhere. They're good for removing dirt and makeup from your face, but they can also get that unflattering patina of cum off of your neck. Go ahead! Refresh your pits, neck, and underboob. You can wipe a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g with them. Anything, friends! Go nuts!
Third, your outfit.
Know Your Retail Options
Ah, New York. The whole dirty burg seems to facilitate my skanking around. My old office was a ho's dream come true, situated conveniently atop an Anne Taylor Loft, a Gap, and a K-Mart. We had a corporate gym with showers and hair dryers and free soap. The only trick was getting there early enough to buy a $20 sun dress and a bunch of Gatorade. God. Nobody hire me for anything, ever.
Work with What You Have
If you are unwilling or unable to swing into my favorite French boutique, Toujours 21, try to improvise with your outfit. I did and kept a spare cardigan at work or made a habit of repurposing whatever layers I had on to create a whole new outfit. It's shocking how unlikely people are to notice that you are wearing the same thing you did yesterday, but it turns out your co-workers are way less observant than you think. I mean, this is why stuff like ponzi schemes and stuff happen, I think. I don't really know what a ponzi scheme is. Anyhow, put on a sweater.
The most important thing to have in your ho stroll kit? A sense of adventure! Oh. And like, probably some cranberry pills.
*flip the fuck out