I find it ironic that Girls Gone Wild promoters hand out T-shirts; it just seems counter-productive to their end goal. This was the most prominent among the many rambling jumbles of thoughts crashing through my head as I bartended the Girls Gone Wild party. As one of the few females not busily stripping away binding tank tops as if this event was some sad poor man’s version of a spring break Mardi Gras, I had time to make a handful of observations. The following is list of loose guidelines for you, you generic-girly-top-tearing-sexually-repressed-oh-my-God-I’m-so-wasted-want-to-make-out-she-sheep*:
1. Just because you and your new best friend Cindy, who you bonded with in the bathroom over your identical lower back butterfly tattoos, have see-through tops on, it does not give you the right to lift her shirt for her once the cameramen focus on the two of you and taunt. There’s a thin line separating the girl who recently broke up with her Theta Chi boyfriend Brad and just wants to dance, dance, dance, and the girl who is readily waiting and prepared to unveil her nipples to the mass public at large.
2. Ordering a really strong Amaretto/sour is oxy moronic. Don’t do that. You’re better off snorting lines of powdered sugar off the boys urinal–talk about almost totally buzzing. If a sea breeze gets you randy enough to wrap your liquid thighs around the bar, then I might suggest sticking with a Shirley Temple, as you are already prone to bad decision making.
3. By ending every sentence with an emphatically belted “”woo”” and/or “”hoo”” whilst sticking your tongue out and throwing your arms up in an inhibitions-be-damned fashion, it really detracts the listener from whatever message you were trying to delineate. For example, “”I think the meeting between Taiwan’s president elect and China’s President Jintao could prove to be a watershed event between the feuding neighbors–WOO!””
4. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, although the bus the film crew travels in looks glamorous and ritzy, what with its bright neon hues and sparkly flashing lights, do not enter. Though they don’t I.D. and they promise to make you famous, chances are the only things you’ll walk away with other than a potential 10 seconds of 10 minutes of fame, is an accidental pregnancy and a burning sensation when you pee. I’m sure there’s enough DNA on all the plastic surfaces on that bus that if one were to walk on with a black light, their retinas would detach to due to the brightness.
Having said this, my intention is not to dampen a good time, just to make it a more creative one. No offense is intended to Girls Gone Wild creator Joe Francis. I’m sure he cares little about my thoughts on the matter. Even with his legal trouble, bottom line is he’s still a millionaire—paid off the backs, or rather fronts, of consenting tequila-soaked “”legal”” ladies. I’m all for nudity in public. In fact, I’ve participated in said act. (My favorite venture into such was in Mexico when I walked into a party with one breast exposed and pretended I didn’t know just to watch peoples’ reactions.) Still, my message is simply that the best naked girl in public is the informed naked girl in public. Be an individual. Make it your own.
*I do realize that a she-sheep is, in fact, referred to as an ewe, but that would have killed my ranting alliteration. “