See Free

Bring the cups baby I can bring the drink.

Home.

Life in Greece: Free Stitches for Drunk Bitches

This past summer, I lived in Greece. I left my current city of Montreal with a mere $400 after I sold all the furniture in my apartment… this was my first encounter with bizarre craigslist people including “Maria” who missed our appointment because she had explosive diahrreah (sad I had to google how to spell diahrreah), and believed she was contagious… no I’m not kidding. Luckily, Maria never called back. Phew. But thats another story. So I get to Greece, owneed the metro system, and for one month I volunteered for a refugee shelter… I lived with a family, learned how to say what I needed to get by… ie i googled sentences during the day at the office, and practiced them on refugees at the shelter at night… After many 6 am days at the office, till 10 pm nights in the shelter I was ready for my next destination. I am an avid volunteer-er, but a girls gotta get wild. So after I did my time I hopped on a boat to Ios, it was May 28th… Time for the island of infection, overconsumption, and sex… At least the first month of my trip to Greece I had good intent!

Ios, Ios, Ios. The first time I backpacked Europe, I was 17 years old. I left my friends on the Spanish Steps and said “see ya in a few weeks”. I then planed, trained, and bussed my way to the Greek Islands. This was my first taste of Ios, and my first taste of travelling solo… I got a job the second day I was there, at a bar called Circus Bar. This was it. The most wild summer destination of all time (it is beyond Ibiza, in my eurosavvy opinion). And I was 17. I could go into further detail, but if you know me the ambiguity I provide should serve its purposeful justice.

So back to my most recent trip — here I was, from Athens to Ios, for the second time. I was nineteen and loving it. I, by this point, had dwindled my $400 budget to a few bills and pennies… but I wasn’t worried. I found roomates and an apartment for 9 euros a night for the summer… sweet. I also began bartending and waiting at Ali Baba’s. Two weeks after I began I was promoted as the manager…

Workers on Ios were wild. I think there were about 60 of us, and we all clan together. Everyone knows everyone, and everyone has been with everyone. I loved that, because I could walk into any bar or restaurant and get free drinks!! Super convenient for me! Every night you party till around 5, 6, 7 am… or if you miss a respectable hour, you just go sleep on the beach for the afternoon.

One of the nights my apartment was robbed, and my two roomates and I had a LOT stolen. Of course my biggest loss was my drivers license, my bank cards, my green card, and my health card… But whatever. I would have to deal with that at the Embassy in Athens. I drunkenly stumbled to the bakery (classic Ios 5 am spot) with some friends. I sat next to a young, good looking Greek man named Demetri, and began to drunkenly chat to him while I manged on a freshly baked chicken pot pie… He told me that him and his friend were both doctors, and they worked at the port. After throwing out a few jokes, I can’t remeber quite what they were but drunk me surely would have retorted something about how “I was a nurse” and “I liked role play”, I bid my adieu and stumbled to my bed. Luckily, I remembered these guys, and I guess I made some sort of impression on them too.

So one of the many perks to living on a Greek Island for 3 months was that you party hard everyday, and party harder on “party days” ie Canada day, Australia day, and my personal favourite— Swedish Midsummer.

Swedish midsummer is a day to celebrate Sweden, with 1000 incredibly hot Swedish guys and girls. I pride myself in being part Swedish, thus, I accredit much of my desire to blackout to my heritage.

I woke up that day at 7 30 am, after having passed out 3 hours earlier… and that was a night I made it in early to sleep before the celebrations the next day… that 430 am bedtime was one of two nights I went to bed when it was still dark.

I lived with 2 other girls, and 3 other guys… a mix of australian and canadian wankers, who loved to get fucked up. I wake up to a bacardi breezer strawpedo (something you learn to do approx 10 minutes after leaving the port upon arrival)… and I managed to chug the bottle in about 6 seconds… not my best, but it was early.

We all went to breakfast to start off the day with some food as a family… One of the clubs in the village opened at 8:30 am, and we were there to start the day. Blue and Yellow body paint smeared my bikini and my shorts (clothing on Ios is very minimal). I decide, because it was MY day, I would pull a grade-nine and down a mickey of nasty 4 euro vodka to start the day on the right foot. Little did I know I would end up with my feet up, and not in any kind of sexy way.

The last thing I remember was foam covering the top of my head, it was spraying from the ceiling, and getting crowd surfed out of the club. The club, Flames, is very small, and it goes straight out to the cobblestone where it was packed with people. I don’t know how far I made it, and I don’t know how I got down to the beach… But I did.

Next thing I know I was at Far Out Beach Club —- essentially a massive club, on the beach with DJ’s, bars, and dance floors… OH and pools. The Beach Club was decorated with blue and yellow streamers and everyone had the colours smeared on their bodies…

The next thing I know I was lying on a stretcher with blood dripping down the back of my head… OOPS! I had slipped into the pool and cracked my head open on the concrete sides… I don’t think I was in too much pain, because I remember laughing in the ambulance.

I emerge into the emergency room in the port (which consisted of a shanty doctor’s office, all in white, with big windows without glass. Classic Island emergency. My friend Danielle is with me and she, clantily scad in just her bikini and body paint, is rushing behind the stretcher. All of a sudden, I hear a “CHLOEEEE from Ali Babas” and two grins that were ever so familiar “What did you doooo!!?”. It was Demetri and his friend from the bakery! I burst into laughing and told them I couldn’t believe they were real doctors…

Lying face down on the operating table I was too drunk to care there were 4 inch long needles going into the back of my head. Danielle (my friend who was probably close to as drunk as me) stood behind one of the doctors, and ended up fainting after seeing the needles! Two drunk bitties in bikinis, both of whom are mildly unconcious. Danielle got escorted to a bed, while I lay there and was stitched up. FUN.

After this, I was brought to a hospital bed and given an IV to help hydrate me. All I remember is laughing with the doctors and forcing Demetri to give me a ciggarette because I was sooo drunk. He obliged after I pointed out I had just cracked my had open, and I leaned out the glassless window to smoke a ciggarette with an IV still in my arm.

I don’t know the exact time frame of this all happening, but I think it was around 3 or 4 pm… Which made my blackout earlier, many many hours long. Still don’t know how I got down to the beach club.

When i awoke I remembered nothing. I had the worst hangover of my life, and quickly realized I was in a hospital… I ripped out my IV (probably still drunk) and screamed for the time… I was supposed to meet my friend for dinner around 7… oops! It was midnight. I stumbled into the reception area to talk to a doctor… No one around. I then meet a great friend, who had just broken her ankle. We sat together in wheel chairs and talked for a long time.

When the doctors finally came out, they made me stay there over night to make sure my head was okay. The next day, I began to get worried. I didn’t have my insurance or health card anymore because they were stolen. LUCKILY, because Demetri and his friend knew me, they told me not to worry about it. A few days later, the two men came to my bar to check on the stitches… So nice. They told me they are getting relocated to a new island, and tonight would be their last night. So, to repay them, I met them after work at a club, and bought them all shots. We danced, and partied, till the wee hours of the night. Only on Ios.

This is how drunk bitches get free stitches.

Just Go With It.

I lived with my dad when I was eighteen. We lived in a house full of verbal boundaries. We lived happily don’t get me wrong, but there were some things we just didn’t talk about. He’s funny that way. The things we keep silent are the obvious father-don’t-talk-to-me-about-that topics… including the wonderful “feminine” issues each month and the oh so father friendly topic of SEX. Both are relative to any eighteen year old girl. But see, the thing is, he did want me to be safe, and he would always supply me with my feminine… resources… I mean I did not ask to be in pain each month, I’m wasn’t about to pay for it with my shitty paycheque! So when I asked him for the first time, after I moved from my mom’s house to his, he went red in the face and handed me FOURTY DOLLARS… “Ughh is that enough? I think that should be enough, right?”. Oh my God. What a bonus to living with my dad. “Yeah, I think it should be enough,” I cleverly responded. My dad’s fiancé was in the room, and chuckled. She pulled me aside, later that day, and told me if I’m ever low on cash to tell him I need tampon money… She said I could probably do it twice a month, because he would be too embarrassed to investigate the odds. He’s a little different when it comes to sex. Five years ago, on my 16^th Christmas, my brother and I decided to wake up at our dad’s house. Usually, we are at our mom’s and go to our dad’s later, but we switched it up this year. It’s early morning and I can smell the bacon… First things first, the stockings. I take pride in my stocking. I mean, Santa spent a long time getting my favourite chocolate and magazines, I appreciate it. I like to feel each thing before I bring it out too, its become a ritual. I guess what it is by feeling the outside, and remembering what was in last years stocking. “Socks, new toothbrush, Costco pack of gum, ohhh whats this? Box! Yes. I love boxes! Small-ish… hmmm…. Lifesavers Christmas value pack?” I pull it out. My brother and Dad sit in front of me. Surely enough, this is the time my father decides to step in and remind me about safety. I look up in disbelief and released an “ewww! Dadddddd!?” My brother chuckled from the corner, and my Dad darted out a quick, “Well, I gave them to you’re brother when he was your age. I figured now was your time”. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? MY TIME? This is insane. I still have to appreciate the gift, I mean, Santa obviously put in a lot of effort here… especially considering it was now “my time”. I squirmishly read the title: “for her pleasure”. So that’s it from my Dad. Many years have passed and I have managed to receive a routine box of condoms, only at Christmas. Only now it’s expected, kind of like a funny joke that is still embarassingly real. So for future refrence, any females living with their fathers… If you are low on cash, tell them you have cramps. If your Dad gives you condoms? Just go with it.