Sweet and Creepy

As today is both my 28th birthday as well as the end of the year, I find myself contemplating the twists and turns my life has taken over the last twelve months. I’ve had quite a few ‘firsts’. New experiences that I can look back on and feel a sense of accomplishment. I directed my first play in Chicago, I jumped into the world of radio theatre, I traveled to asia, I’m going back to school. These are all endeavors that I’m proud of. These are ‘firsts’ that I can talk about without shame. But there are other ‘firsts’. ‘Firsts’ that carry with them humiliation and regret and the frail shell of human weakness. These belong in a darker and more sinister bucket of new experiences. Last night the contents of that bucket increased by one.

The plan was simple, as is the case with most blueprints of evil. Michael had his first Saturday night available for bar hopping, and I was looking for a Birthday celebration. We would start with a little booze, have dinner, and then find some merriment and dancing. We entered the bar at 6:30 p.m. Michael talked to the bartender about the Gilmore Girls. While Michael enjoys talking about the Gilmore Girls, he knows that I hate tampon television and would usually refrain from breaching the subject. In this case, I let him continue as we both know the bartender is mighty fond of the Gilmore Girls and if the conversation moves at a steady clip, free drinks might appear on the table. To add to our plot, Michael whipped out his mightily eccentric cigarette holder. It worked. We drank.

Soon after, my birthday was mentioned. More free drinks appeared on the table. We drank. One would think that having no more excuses for charity alcohol we would receive no more free drinks. But they kept appearing. From all angles shots and steins were placed in front of us. We drank.

I remember a man who resembled Mister McFeely telling me that he wanted to lick my derrière. I remember Michael and the barkeep engaged in a slew of terrible jokes. I remember watching HGTV will reckless abandon. I remember the new bartender coming on duty, finding out it was my birthday, and offering me a free drink.

At this point I knew the insanity had to end. I pleaded that we get something to eat, and we stumbled to McDonalds. I ate fries quickly and Michael started on one of three cheeseburgers he had in front of him. I assumed we were being demure, but in retrospect, the idea that we were blisteringly drunk at 9:30 in a McDonalds might have drawn some attention. It certainly caught the eye of a boothmate down the way. He stumbled over and starting talking to us about Liza Minelli and his eggnog shake. It was then that I knew I would have a ‘first’ tonight. I politely stood, turned, and announced to the dining hall, “I’m going to go throw up now.”

I’ve never had an alcohol-induced vomit session before. It isn’t pleasant. The actual puking isn’t that bad, in many ways it feels cathartic to eject poison from the system. What makes this particular session all the more painful was that I was forced to stare at a McDonalds toilet for longer than I would have liked. I braced myself against the handicapped railing, which I felt I had earned the right to use, and I pushed and pushed. As much as I hated staring at that toilet, I couldn’t seem to leave. I wanted to stand up and walk out. I also wanted to go to sleep in the men’s room. I was stuck at a crossroads.

Michael came into check on me, then ordered two more cheeseburgers. The eggnog shake guy came in to check on me, then went back to yammering at Michael. It felt like I was there for an eternity.

I finally found the courage to stand. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I felt like a soldier in battle who had just been shot in the leg and was forced to drag himself across the jungle before the last helicopter departed. I busted out of the men’s room door and Michael grabbed my arm and led us outside. Somehow we caught a cab and somehow I handed Michael my keys. Apparently I missed the part where eggnog shake talked about being institutionalized. Oh damn.

Once inside my apartment I stripped off my coat and fell onto my daybed. It was grandest of all my falls that night. Michael managed to fall too. He fell on the floor. I could hear him laughing and moving as I stared at my ceiling in the darkness. He managed to crawl into my kitchen where he became enamored with the cold linoleum.

This was the scene Tim came home to when he finished work. Apparently Michael stayed on the floor for the next three hours before finding the strength to rise and depart for his home. Apparently it took Tim 90 minutes to get me out of my contact lenses and into bed. Apparently I had had too much to drink.

At any rate, I survived the night and thanks to some chinese dumplings, have little hangover. Some friends are taking me out tonight for my birthday. Should be fun.

This entry was posted on Sunday, December 30th, 2007 at 1:12 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.