Hey, Sugar, do you want to buy this girl a drink?

Did Lorna become an alcoholic prostitute with surprisingly proper grammar or did she find redemption?

My high school years were productive, not reproductive. This was due to my boyfriend’s responsible but begrudging use of condoms and my blood-alcohol level confusing the dickens out of my reproductive cycle. My eggs were probably passed out in my ovaries.

My eggs after a night of drinking with me.

By day, I was Super Teen: doing my chores, being polite to my elders, innocently socializing with girlfriends, getting straight-As in school, and was involved in numerous and inexplicable school clubs–

The Ski club–I didn’t ski because I wanted to live to become an adult with all my limbs in tact;

They didn't have enough room on the bus for my ski equipment--and I needed all of this for my safety. Sitting in the lodge drinking hot toddies was illegal, but way less work.

The Bowling Club–I was neither competitive nor athletic and there’s nothing more competitive than people in goofy shoes trying to look athletic as they wing a 20 pound ball at 10 innocent tippy bottle-shaped gizmos at the end of a high-glossed wooden alley-way;

Bowling Club members were enthusiastic. Was it the thrill of the elusive Strike, the bags of M & M's and cans of Pepsi, or the absence of mirrors that fueled their zeal?

Library Club–Okay, that one made some sense;

The Chess Club–The game seemed odd and I had no interest in learning the difference between a “rook” and a “thief,” or was it a “knight?” Maybe I thought it was the Chest Club.

I don't think Spock even cared about the game. He was just placating the Captain when there weren't any aliens to outsmart or seduce.

Varsity Cheerleader–Given that I am directionally challenged (“left” and “right” befuddle me) and couldn’t manage a cart-wheel, I believe my bouncing breasts made it on the squad. I just came with the package. The fact that I could spell (“Give me an “S!”) may have helped, too.

Like "Brandi," I was a cheerleader who excelled at standing still. Jumping up and down was also a crowd-pleaser. Brandi, you know what I mean...

I was a member of the National Honor Society, Editor of my Senior Yearbook and, get this, the Valedictorian of my graduating class. That was by day.

By night, I was Super Sloshed. When I was on my way to Black-Out Land, I was funny, flirty, and could be talked into just about anything. Just about… I don’t remember most of what happened because I was drunk. I know I was never injured, pregnant, or involved in a bank heist. How do I know? No sirens. Maybe my hair got a bit messy and my bra wasn’t always affixed properly, but these could be fixed without police involvement before I got home.

Go ahead. You won't find me in any state or federal criminal data base--not even under my alias, Angelique.

I went to college, but nothing close to Valedictorian League. I went to my local state university. My Guidance Counselor wasn’t what you’d call a “go getter.” He mostly did substitute teaching. When I asked for guidance he gave me the Dictionary of Occupational Titles and left to get a cup of coffee. No one encouraged me to apply to “name” universities and I didn’t feel confident enough to do it without encouragement. Plus I wanted to stay near my future husband–the guy I got drunk for so he could have sex.

They seemed like the perfect couple, right?

I left home when I was 18 to begin my life as a responsible adult. I had my own apartment, my own future husband, and my own drinking problem. I graduated Magna Cum Laude from college, so I wasn’t a total derelict, but I was far from redemption.

Maybe being passed out next to my textbooks helped me absorb the necessary materials to ace my exams.

My future husband broke up with me in my senior year of college. Six years of drinking and sex went down the drain.

I never could resist a good pun.

What happens next to Single Forlorn Lorna? I feel another series coming on…