Christmastime in the Emerald City

{December 28, 2007}   Vomiting Can Be Fun!

Okay! Here we go, as I promised Romi, she inspired me with all her poo talk to write a tale about vomit. I have several stories, all of them amusing and disgusting to various degrees.

My first vomit story occurred when I was just a wee child. I was a flower girl at my uncle’s wedding. And I was then, as I am now, and forever shall be, an attention grabbing whore. Fuck your wedding, it’s ME TIME!!!!!!! So I went running up and down the aisle in perfect glee. Up and down the aisle. Until I puked. Yes, it’s true. I ran so fucking hard and fast and for so damned long that I made myself puke, right in the middle of the aisle if I’m not mistaken. The details are a bit hazy though, I may have been ‘removed’.

Fast forward a couple of years to when I’m at that age where I drink, even though I’m not quite legal. And my parents have always been cool with me drinking a bit. They figured if they made a big deal out of it, I’d go fucking crazy when I turned 19. And I always looked older than I really was (thanks, tits) so it was no huge deal to go to a bar with my dad to see above mentioned uncle play in his band and have a pint of beer when I was, say, 17 or so.

Now, my mother’s side of the family lacks a bit of….class. My mother can be quite classy at times, but the poor thing is stuck in the suburbs so I can’t give her any points whatsoever. The rest of her family….well, there are a disproportionate number of truck drivers and missing teeth. So, unsurprisingly, we went up to the trailor park one summer for a weekend of fun. We stopped at the liquor store. The man at the counter struck up a conversation with my stepdad, who was in front of me, about all the ‘townie’ kids who were coming up and trying to use them fake IDs. Oh, he was putting quite a stop to all of that, yessirreebob. He then rang me through, took the 37 dollars from my 16 year old pocket, and called me ma’am when he thanked me. Thanks, tits.

Well, this naturally led to my first experience in blacking out. There are no gaps in my memory; I have a clear recollection of their being gaps in my consciousness at the time. Sitting. Black. Standing. Black. Table. Black. Clamato. Black. Pour. Black. Vodka. Black. Pour. Black. Pour. Black. Spill. Black. Curse. Black. All over my jeans. Black. Walking. Black. Tripping. Black. Sitting on the side of the open minivan. Black. Realizing how lame it is to be sitting in a minivan. Black. Vomit between my feet on the ground. Black. Mom, stepdad, aunt, uncle all making fun of me because at least they were able to make it out back to the woods to throw up. Black. Mumbling some excuse about food poisoning. Black. Waking up and wishing for the first time in my life that there was no sun. Cleaning up own puke. Black.

Naturally, we all woke up at about 4pm and started the whole thing over again.

Fast forward another year or so (because I don’t do this very often). It’s my friend Natalie’s 19th birthday party. She is the first of our group to turn 19. Sadly, we have since lost her to the Jehova’s. Anyways, her mom was a bit of a lush too, so we were all fucking plastered. Let me tell you: Sunny-D + vodka = BAD FUCKING IDEA.

Several highlights of the night:

– one friend taking off her shirt and yelling ‘the power of christ compels you!’ which was made infinitely funnier because she’s an athiest.

– one friend deciding to walk the mile and a half to the grocery store to tell the boy she had a crush on who worked there that she was in love with him, and the rest of us having to drag her back through the wet streets. I think bunny slippers were involved in there somewhere.

– Natalie’s mom tripping over one of the girls, landing in a pile of shoes by the door and putting  her elbow through the cheap fibreboard closet door.

– another friend disappearing for three hours, only to return with bruises on her chest from the force of thunking against the toilet bowl with every hurl; apparently there were a lot of hurls.

– another friend just cries when she gets drunk, which is just plain unfun (she also once vomited in a cab back from St. Patrick’s day after less than three drinks.)

– and yes, I cursed my own existance the following morning as well.

Sidebar: When my own 19th birthday party came around I did not get drunk to the point of illness because by then it was old news. My mother also took me to one of the suburbs less classy joints where my uncle and his band were playing. So…not cool to puke in front of your musician uncle and his rather attractive bass player. However, upon hearing it was my birthday, one of my uncle’s groupies (yes, bar bands have groupies in the suburbs) who as it turned out had just gotten out of prison, went to the grocery store next door, went to the bakery section, which was closed, walked behind the counter, and stole me a birthday cake. Yeah. I had stolen cake for my birthday. Awesome.

Back up just a little bit to just before I turned 19. Drinking at a bar for one of the first ‘real’ times, ie: out with friends, chatting up the boys, namely a group of Irish fellows staying in Canada for a few months. Making out with a guy who was waaaay too short for me (but he had long hair, so it was okay in my books) and realizing I had to throw up. Excuse myself daintily, go to bathroom, start hurling. However, I hadn’t managed to lock the door behind me. So it kept swinging open. I’m not sure if you can picture this, but there I am, mule-kicking the door behind me between bouts of spewing, only to have it swing back and smack me in the ass. Kick, spew, slap, repeat. Unpretty. I finished up, rinsed out my mouth, and went back to sloppy makeouts.

Fast forward to just a couple of weeks ago. Okay, yes, there have been times when I’ve puked between turning 19 and turning 23, it’s just that none of them are very exciting. We’ve discovered my body doesn’t like Shiraz. There was a bumpy cab ride back from last years corporate holiday deal, before which I had been totally fine. But nothing particularly exciting. Until just a few weeks ago.

I was at a friends house and used her husbands grinder to grind up some weed I had just purchased. This is rather ironic since I had bought him the grinder for his birthday and I don’t even have one of my own. Loser with a capital L. Anyways, also like a loser with a capital L, I put my pipe in the baggie with my nicely ground up weed. Therefore, when I got home and lit up, I inhaled not just smoke, but several very potent and tickly bits of weed that had wound up in the mouth piece. Right down my throat. Instantly I felt nauseated, but thought “I’ll be fine”. I took another puff, it happened again, and I didn’t even make it to my kitchen sink, never mind my actual toilet.

I . Puked. Right on my floor. Right on my floor, between my feet, oh my god. I can’t believe I just puked on my own floor. How the hell do you clean up puke? While stoned? Especially when you don’t believe in paper towels and wouldn’t want to use them anyways? You take your least prized towel, scoop and smoosh as much as you can and just toss it. Then you spray your floor with bleach and sacrifice a facecloth. That’s how.

So yeah. I’m a retard. And in the spirit of sharing embarassing moments with all of you, there it is. I have vomited in many amusing situations, including hurling on my own floor while sitting on my own couch getting stoned by myself watching cartoons. I am a winner.


talea says:

Ahahahahhaaaa! Even in my very sick condition right now (though not sick in the puking way, thank GOD), I will laugh at you. I’d heard every one of those stories before, but not the most recent one. How did you keep that from me?! Ahahaha, you’re a loser. A drunk, pukey loser. but I lub you.

greenmetropolis says:

Thanks, but you forgot to be perfectly clear about the fact that I am a Loser with a capital L. I can’t believe I hadn’t told you that story! Jesus Christ, I was so humiliated for myself, I just sat there in shock thinking (and possibly even saying out loud) “I can’t believe I just puked on my own fucking floor! I’m 23 years old, and I just puked on my fucking floor! What the fuckass?!?! Ass. Balls.”

nahole says:

I was fucking cool with this shit until the last fucking story and then my own fucking stomach started fucking turning with the image of you stoned, wiping up puke with a towel. I get sick less than I used to but I used to get fucking sick a lot. Can’t fucking say that it bothered me though. I used food poisoning as an excuse all the fucking time – I don’t think I fooled anyone. . .

romi41 says:

I laughed my ass off everytime you thanked your tits…good ol’ tits 🙂

And dude..the vomit..on the floor…and it all piled up in the face towel….maybe I shouldn’t have eaten breakfast after all…

I had something similar, except I was all out of it (not stoned, just stupid-romi-drunk) and I ended up puking into my purse…I had to ditch everything in that purse, including my wallet…it was a moment where I was SO glad I’m not one of those chicks who buys $500 brand-name purses….and you may think you’re a loser because you’re 23 and that happened, but I was…ahem…26…..anyhoo I vowed for that to never happen again, and since then, I NEVER mix my alcohol, I refuse shots if they threaten to break the “never mixing” rule, and I always go home a happy (and clean) drunk…but still, talk about LOSER….hahaha..

talea says:

That’s a good lesson Romi! Don’t mix your alcohols!! And avoid tequila at all costs I find.

romi41 says:

Yes, YES, it was the tequilla, the ONE lone tequila shot that killed me every time!!! That and having rum and vodka in one night (no, no, no for Romi!!!)

Damn those boys who are always like “wooohoooo….let’s have a tequila shot!”….never again.

nahole says:

when i was just a fucking kid, maybe fucking 18, i got my hands on a fucking bottle of jose cuervo, which i fucking promptly drank solo. For about 40 minutes i felt fine and then i fucking collapsed in a twitching vomiting mess (in an elevator). It took years for me to even be able to stand the smell of tequilla – now i love the shit again.

talea says:

Everybody has a tequila story. Everybody. I think it’s a rite of passage.

greenmetropolis says:

Tequila was involved in the trailor park incident, yes. And a lot of other shit that I can’t even remember. I’ve never puked in my purse, but I recently spilled a bottle of Fireball Whiskey into one since the stupid cabdriver wouldn’t let me drink on the way home. I mean dude, I’m being responsible and taking a cab, at least let me drink!

nahole says:

I once puked in the pocket of a jacket (which I was wearing at the time). I think I thought it was pretty clever but it was actually pretty fucking gross. I tossed the jacket on my way home but a few weeks later saw a homeless dude wearing it. (I could tell it was mine because I’d painted the back.) Really fucking gross.

greenmetropolis says:

Aw, dude, things I don’t want to think about! Poor homeless dudes and their vomity jackets. Gross.

talea says:

Homeless guy was probably all excited. Woo-ee! A nice jacket that someone threw out! Then he put it on and slid his hands into the pocket all cool-like and was greeted by stale puke.
That’s Nasty. Capital N.

nahole says:

the think is that jacket was all beat to fuck. It has also fucking caught fire once while I was wearing it (smoking in a store and being told to put it out. I put in my pocket instead – NOT a good fucking move – it quickly started smoking and smoldering, making way more fucking smoke than if I had just smoked the fucking thing.

greenmetropolis says:

Haha, revenge of the cigarette! Best line I’ve ever heard about setting things on fire: Me: “You lit a garbage dumpster on fire?!” Him: “Well…I didn’t have a guitar yet…”

romi41 says:

This comment thread keeps bringing the puke up my throat, and yet I’m mesmerized…

And by the way to you three: Happy Fucking New Year, I love you guys!!! Do I already sound intoxicated? LOL..well I’m not, I’m just feeling very affectionate to you three right now, considering you guys are my very near and dear buddies from blogging world and into real life (if you’d call Facebook real life…haha)….Happy New Year!!!

*slutty hugs 😉

nahole says:

thanks romi – you rule. so it’s only 7 and i am so fcking wasted that i may have a fucking vomit story soon myself

David says:

Fuck. Ing. Te. QUILA!

[gagging and wretching sounds]

[toilet flush]

HAPPY NEW YEAR you disgusting PEOPLE.

greenmetropolis says:

MY NEW YEARS WAS AWESOME. I tarted it way the fuck up and just went over to my friends house with her kids, her husband and her sister and we KNITTED IN THE NEW YEAR.

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