in the spirit of recalling recent birthday memories, here's another one.
good ol' 23.
i had just moved to The City.
Gman came out for the weekend.
we went to a very fancy seafood dinner down at The Tad.
at that stage of my life, my drink of choice was the ever-classy Long Island Ice Tea.
you can already tell where this story is heading, can't you?
well then, ill keep it brief.
sort of.
i ordered one Long Island after another, as is tradition.
on the final drink, i tripped on my way back from the bar. spilled the entire thing. everywhere.
instead of cleaning it up, i went back to the bar and demanded another one.
a free one.
i told the bartender my sob story.
he fell for it.
i'm very convincing when i'm drunk.
then, as is tradition, i began to feel sick.
extremely sick.
so i went to the bathroom, and as Gman love to retell this story,
"i stood over the toilet, with my head down, and my dress pulled up in the back"
aka my butt was up in the air - hello undies!
and my face was in the toilet.
it was what i refer to as a False Alarm.
there was no barfy-barf.
yet.
then we got into a cab to go home.
remember how cabs usually make me car sick?
i've mentioned that before.
this was no exception.
barfed. out. the. window.
cab driver yelled at me.
i barfed more.
Gman tipped him a little somethin' extra to apologize.
we got home.
i went into the bathroom.
i stripped down.
i layed on the bathroom floor.
buck naked.
or is it butt naked?
i never remember.
bottom line is - i had no clothes on.
Gman came in.
picked me up.
carried me to my room.
dressed me in my pjs.
and tucked me into bed like the classy girl i am.
(you may have noticed a pattern here. men usually carry me to bed, dress me and tuck me in.)
and in the morning, we ate what i can only describe as Dim Sum Diaharrea.
i will never eat in Chinatown ever, ever again. thank you.
this happens to be the same birthday when Gman and i rode a tandem bike across The Famous Bridge and i realized we had major trust issues.
23, you cray-cray.
