as i piece together events from the evening of october 16th, into the morning of october 17th, the faint smell of stomach acid still hangs sourly in the air around me. it’s nearly a full day later, and i have just stopped feeling drunk and burping up poisonous death hell gas. now i find myself wondering if my hangover will ever go away and if, in fact, there is no heaven.
it all began with an excellent meal at what is now one of my favorite restaurants around, saha. amazing middle eastern food–every single dish on our table was off the hook(ah), and didn’t even look so bad all over the back seat of my car! (more on this later.) they were also playing good music–first time i’ve ever heard amon tobin and boards of canada in a restaurant, let alone a pseudo-jiggy one. big ups to all who contributed to my feast, and/or provided me with various gift–or as i like to refer to it, “free stuff.” there was also much consumption of wine and beer.
after dinner, we ventured to fizzy’s, known primarily for its hot female bartenders and assorted alcoholic beverages. “fortunately,” our friend kyne happened to be working as one of the hot bartenders, which meant that i received a gang of free alcohol i didn’t need, including a shot that included three glasses full of different brightly-colored alcohol. this was the point at which i started to die–mixing wine, beer, vodka, tequila, whiskey, and several other unidentified liquors is not a good idea. yet somehow, every fucking time i celebrate the day of my birth, i manage to pour all of them down my throat. the definition of “insanity” is to repeatedly perform the identical actions with the belief that they will somehow produce different results…which means i’m a retarded fuckwad.
so anyway…the bar closes, i hand miguel the keys to the whip, and somehow manage to climb into the backseat. it takes about five minutes for the driving motion to bring out the best in me, which gets not only all over me, but also all over the back seat of my car (as i discovered just moments ago: “well i’m a mushroom-cloud-layin’ motherfucker, motherfucker! every time my fingers touch vomit i’m superfly tnt, i’m the guns of the navarone! in fact, what the fuck am i doin’ in the back? you’re the motherfucker should be on vomit detail. we’re fuckin’ switchin’ right now.” etc.)
so we get home and in an effort to get from the car to the washing machine in my garage, i recall a wounded robert deniro in the final scenes of the film heat as i stumble wildly into my neighbor’s eight-cylinder black benz, smudging fresh vomit all across the driver’s side body and windows. though i remember none of this, i eventually reach the washing machine, undress, throw all my wet, vomitty clothinhg into the washing machine, and proceed to walk through my building and up to my apartment COMPLETELY FUCKING NAKED. how this happened, i have no idea.
i stumble to the bathroom and crawl into my bathtub, turning the water on high/hot, which after about half an hour becomes high/cold, but i’m so fucked up at this point that i can’t really move, so instead i just LAY THERE in the dark, being sprayed with FREEZING COLD FUCKING WATER. i should also point out that i had vomited into the bathwater several times, meaning that i am in fact LAYING THERE in the dark, MARINATING IN MY OWN VOMIT, being sprayed with FREEZING COLD FUCKING WATER.
so that about wraps us up for today’s lesson in insane retardation. see you again next year–same time, same god-awful predicament! fuck you! fuck me! shit puke die hell shit! ::passes out::