Rather, how I feel I need to act and how my friends expect me to act.
I have this reputation as "that guy," and I constantly feel the need to live up to it. I'm skinny, un-athletic, white male from the suburbs so I have to prove the worth of my genitalia somehow and heavy drinking seemed to be the easiest route. Last night the cave man, that is me, decided to beat his chest and pasteurize to the other cave dwellers.
Basically I got tanked. Shelled. Wasted. Destroyed.
Insert violent synonym for inebriated here, and that was me.
But that's not really the story. In the year of 2009 it really isn't that special to get hammered. Like the peer pressure kids in D.A.R.E. say, "every body's doin it." What I find more interesting is the state I found myself in the next morning.
Last memory is a fail.
Talking to this really good looking waitress at the bar we rented out who has this tattoo of a peacock, and even if there ever was a chance she was interested in me, I'm blowing it. I can't string together two sentences. I look over and notice her co worker has the gauge ear ring/ loop/ hole thing going on, and then I'm standing in my door way with a Gatorade and a case of Mountain Dew.
Bam. Just like that, teleportation.
Somebody took a dump on my brain and the room in front of me seems to be shaking. I chug the Gatorade but that causes me to crumple to the floor. Door's still open, so if anybody walks by right now they might actually call an ambulance.
Takes me five minutes to stand up and shut it.
It's ten in the morning and I have no idea how I got here. It feels like I walked, and when I see my keys on the table this is confirmed. I immediately take off my shirt to assess the damage.
Bruise to the right pectoral. Origin: Unknown at this time.
Blood on the right cheek/ left arm/ right pant leg. Origin: Scab peeled off previous burn injury of right hand. Source of scab removal: Unknown at this time.
Large bruise right bicep. Origin: Doorway of bar. Source of bruise: Misjudged doorway entry resulting in collision.
Blood on upper lip. Origin: Most likely nose. Source of blood: Most likely rolled onto face while sleeping in unknown area.
Soreness in middle knuckle of left hand. Origin: Wall of bar. Source of soreness: Punching wall in attempt to assert male dominance.
All in all not that bad. I remember some stairs I could have fallen down, and this time I didn't fall off a stage/ bar/ bleachers. The worst damage is in my head and stomach. The Gatorade is gunna come up soon, but I don't get to pick when that is.
I. Have. To. Shower.
I strip down completely naked and go turn the water on. Once I'm naked I get to see another ding.d
Bruise on right thigh. Origin: Unknown at this time.
The water feels good. It isn't a rink-a-dink tub in shitty 1940's house anymore, this is holy water/ the pool of Valhalla/ fountain of youth/ River of Olympus. I just stand there for ten minutes without thinking of soap.
I'm lathering up with this stuff my old roommate's girlfriend left. I tell myself, foolishly, that the worst will be over and I probably won't vomit.
Than I see it.
This is some fancy soap that smells good, hell feels good, and it is in my hand. It's a white pearly substance that is clear in some parts but in other parts milky.
Basically it looks like sperm.
I sling my hand down and actually say out loud, "It's soap. It's soap. It's fucking soap. It's soap. It's soap."
Brain won't listen. And this shit is covering my chest hair/ arms/ arm pits/ face.
I gag twice, fall on my ass, then vomit all over my thighs and unmentionables.
Luckily it's all Gatorade with last nights alcohol mixed in so when I check the drain there's nothing for me to pick out with my fingers, nothing to remove from body hair. Also I'm in a shower, so the vomit is more or less cleaned off of me.
So, win-win.
And that's where I'm at when I think of this post. I sit in the shower for a good forty-five minutes just letting the water seep into me.
How the hell did I get home?
Well, I cant tell you the answer to much of your night, but I can solve the where you slept mystery. When I got home at 2:30am your were passed out on my couch (Floyd) sitting upright with your head down. I walked outside, came back in and you had fallen off of said couch and were in the same upright position on my floor. Corey and I then picked you up and put you in the recliner in the den where you slept. As far as going home, I got no answers. Check with Corey or Mike as they were gone along with you when I awoke this morning.
ReplyDeleteWow, dude, that's one hell of a night... but I must say you demonstrate a certain eloquence in your description. Here's hoping you outgrow the need to make a total ass of yourself to prove your manhood. Loves ya cuz!
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