three things i love:
G
bars
new bars
Mr. REA was out of town this weekend, so i met up with G to check out a new bar in The City.
i spent most of the night chatting it up with mediocre men
blah blah blah blah blah
where do you work?
what do you do?
do you come here often?
all that bull crap bar-chatter.
we left and went, idk, someplace else.
some bar with two-levels.
i hate bars with two-levels.
all i remember about that place was that i got lost trying to find my way out.
i couldn't find the stupid staircase.
ahem. let me rephrase that,
i was too drunk to find the exit.
honesty is important.
then i got into a cab.
i think i fell asleep.
and woke up when he pulled into my driveway.
i couldn't figure out how he knew where i lived.
i must have told him.
he followed me up the stairs to my door.
it made me a little nervous.
he probably thought i couldn't make it all the way up without falling over.
what a gentleman.
i don't actually remember if i paid him or not.
maybe thats why he was following me.
unsolved mystery.
the night ended with me on the toilet, barfing on the floor. on my pants. on my underwear.
yet another common theme.
i continued barfing into the sink. it clogged the drain. i turned on the water to help with the congestion. this resulted in an entire sink full of barfy-barf. at least i had the sense to pin back my bitty-bangs.
i wobbled into my bedroom and put on whatever clothes were nearby.
passed out.
my apartment isn't very big, and the scent sure does carry. i was awoken throughout the night by the looming stench coming from the bathroom. it was impossible to ignore.
barf-breath apartment.
disgusting.
in the late afternoon, i finally decided to get out of bed and face my demons.
i noticed blood all over my foot.
it appears someone stepped on my toe last night.
or i tripped on something.
or something got dropped on my foot.
or maybe it's someone else's blood.
unsolved mystery.
i stared at the mess in the bathroom for a while and pondered what my life has amounted to. i quickly moved on to a much more important topic: what the hell did i eat yesterday?
there's nothing more humbling than scooping your own vomit into the trash can, then having to scrape off the dried-up stubborn pieces with about a thousand Clorox wipes.
if Saturday nights came more than once a week, i think i'd be dead by now.
or in rehab.
