THE SLOSHED SLUT

At Mars Bar
Is there a more quintessential lady drunk than the Girls Gone Wild archetype? Spying sexy Brit Simon, 32, at this East Village dive, I fake-slurred in his ear, “Let’s forgo the small talk and just go home with each other.” His face lit up. “Wow. Are you serious? I always daydreamed that a girl would hit on me,” he said before launching into a long-winded story about his tattoos. (Hello, are we going to your place or not?) Before I knew it, Simon was pouring his heart out about his family, his hopes and dreams, and why he left his fancy apartment for a “more meaningful existence.” Who knew acting like a hussy could turn a man emo?

At Henrietta Hudson
Disappointed by the dudes, I hit up a lesbian bar in search of a feisty woman. Mari, 40, popped the question immediately: “Are you into bitches or men?” I paused to collect my thoughts, and she barked, “Did you hear me, girl? You like pussy or cock?” “Both!” I lied. “All right then,” she said and sidled up to me. I nuzzled her neck and giggled seductively as she kissed and licked my face, but the flirty laughs ended when she bit my cheek. Careful for what you wish for!

The obnoxious drunk

At White Horse Tavern
Next up in our canon o’ drunks: me playing a jerk. “Why do you have a hard hat on? You look like a loser,” I sneered at Matt, 28. “I’m going to Japan in ten hours,” he said defensively. “Why does it matter?” Are you a construction worker? “No,” he said, adding that he works for a high-profile financial company. “Is that why you have an ugly yellow shirt on?” (I’m trying to get punched here, people.) Thankfully, Matt took the high road. “Look, I’m just trying to have fun. It’s Saturday night!”

Back at Mars Bar
“Do you like the Rolling Stones?” Zach, 50, asked me as he pushed buttons on the jukebox. “Hell, no!” I shouted. “Only old people listen to that shit!” Zach frowned. “How about the Beatles?” I shrugged: “They’re okay. Why do you have stains on your shirt? You need a bib,” I said, tucking a cocktail napkin inside his i love ny tee. Zach stepped away: “Fuck you! Go home to your rich boyfriend!” I upped the ante. “Go fuck yourself and stop playing shitastic music!” Zach took his middle finger and began sucking on it, and then stormed out of the bar in anger. Cheers, mate.

The falling-down mess

At McSorley's Old Ale House
And now for the ultimate test: I did my best stumble outside McSorley’s and “passed out” by the entrance. For 15 long minutes, people walked past—or over—my comatose body. Realizing that nobody gave a damn if I was dead or alive, I started begging bouncer Mike, 24, for some water. “I can’t right now,” he snapped. “I have to work the door.” I hacked up some phlegm in hopes that Mike would show some empathy, and then threatened to vomit on myself. Finally he called for water and helped me to my feet. “I feel sick,” I mumbled, swiping at a string of drool. “I’ve seen worse,” he assured me. “Once a girl fell asleep out here and urinated on herself. I had to carry her inside, too.”

At Mars Bar, one last time
Back again, I “conked out” and within minutes Ally, 21, became my guardian angel. “Are you okay?!?” she asked, tapping my shoulder. “Do you need anything?” She fetched me water and I thanked her. “It’s all good,” she said. “I have a strong sense of the communal nature. If people help each other out, we’d be living in a better world.” I’ll drink to that!

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