You Deserve a Drink: Boozy Misadventures and Tales of Debauchery by Mamrie Hart

funny. It’s funny because it’s
self
-deprecation—not someone else making a dig about my body to my face.
    My ego wasn’t hurt; I was just mad. And here’s why. I am totally comfortable in my body, despite whether I happen to be taking care of it or whether I’m carrying some extra weight. But that might not be the case for everyone who was in that audience. I have no doubt that a good majority of the girls there were super uncomfortable with that statement. If this guy could say rude things to the person onstage, what kind of shit would he say to the girls at the table beside him?
    I wish I’d had my Topless Tuesday crew to march onstage in their various shapes and sizes and give him a dose of reality, to show him what actual women look like. They aren’t just the waifish models in his mom’s L.L.Bean catalog that he steals to jerk off to in his bedroom. I’m sure Melissa would’ve promptly asked him to pull his balls out so we could judge the sag level of those bad boys. *
    That
is why I think my club was important. No, we didn’t solve mysteries or get our own landline. But we did, for a magical moment in time, have women feeling a little more comfortable about their bodies, throwing caution (and Spanx) to the wind. If that arsehole had yelled “saggy tits” at Claire on week one, she would’ve shown up to week two wearing a turtleneck over a snowsuit. Butnot at week five. At week five, she would’ve thrown her cigar at him and shimmied across the stage while we all cheered behind her. Dare I say it? Topless Tuesday was the
titz
.
    Don’t get me wrong—I don’t think you need to be naked in front of your friends to gain more confidence. I’m just saying that pushing yourself outside your comfort zone a little only makes your comfort zone that much bigger. I am sure I just ripped off Oprah or some self-help guru with that last sentence, but fuck it. It’s true.
    And for all you folks still curious about Jacques, I never did find out how he knew about my club. But I did know how to get a solid grade on that two-hundred-word paper. Instead of the paper he wanted us to turn in on our favorite movie, I did him one better. Using the girls from my club, a black-construction-paper censor bar, and my club taking turns saying
“Oui!”
one hundred times, I created my own movie. It was titled
Filles D
é
chaîn
é
es
à
Paris
.
    Girls Gone Wild in Paris.
    I passed the class.

Quickshots: Terrible Comments

    H ere is my first Quickshot! What’s a Quickshot, you ask? Easy. For some of these stories, there is so much more I want to cram in, but I don’t have the room (that’s what she said).
    So, rather than rob you readers of the exhilaration of my humiliation, I decided to include these countdowns throughout the book. No need to whip up simple syrup or buy some specialty endangered bald eagle egg liqueur; just pound a shot of your choice.
    This particular Quickshot is about Internet comments! I don’t think I’m breaking new ground here by saying that people can be HUGE DICKS on the Internet. And I’m not just talking about when you google-image the phrase “huge dicks.”
    I’m actually really lucky. For the most part the comments on my videos are super positive. And when someone does have the audacity to write something shitty, it is quickly thumbs-downed by so many people that it disappears. It’s like a personal army of positivity. Despite my clique, a few shitty comments do manage to eke by on every upload.
    Here are some examples of mean-spirited comments that have made me laugh. Let it be known that I’ve gotten some beyond-awful ones before, but I don’t want those dicks who are secretly fans to read this book while wearing their
YDAD
shirts and havethe satisfaction of seeing their comments in it. Instead, here are three different types of people who like to troll.
    Please note that I left out their actual usernames so as to protect their identities. Please also note that more than one had a