Saturday, November 10, 2012

Paybacks

I don't know if I even wrote about it at the time but, almost two years ago, Lucy and I went to a dive bar with her cousin Laurie and a few of her friends to see their other cousin's band.

Not intending it to be a wild night at all, Lucy and I ended up totally trashed. Chet had to pick us up from Laurie's house.

And, on the drive home from the bar, I puked in Laurie's car. Laurie's friend puked at the same time. Lucy was sandwiched between us.

Not my proudest moment. It was seriously only the second time in my life that I have consumed alcohol to the point of vomiting. And I hope that it is the last. That was humiliating.

But funny. It's funny. Now. Sort of.

Okay, I cringe every time that it's mentioned.

So, anyway, last night Lucy and Laurie's cousin was back in town with his band. They were playing at the same bar. Chet stayed home with the baby and we ventured out to the scene of the crime.

I had a couple of (strong) shots as soon as we arrived. I rejected a few dudes at the bar. I was gently molested by the lead singer. And I failed to notice that Laurie's friends were getting really, really drunk.

(Seriously, I think it's the bar. Something in the air there. Or in the drinks. Such as roofies.)

We hung around for a while after the show was over. Laurie gave us the 10 minute warning 10 minutes too late. As soon as her friend -- while making out with a random dude at the bar -- fell over, we made a quick exit.

This time, I took the middle seat. I also took the empty plastic cup that Lucy and I smuggled out of the bar. (It was a very useful tool in mess control.)

I've telegraphed where this is going, right? We're halfway home, the friend is puking and I am the nurse to the drunken.

And I am awesome at it. Awesome in ways that I won't detail because I have clearly gone into enough detail about vomit in this post.

It was obviously all disgusting. And I am too old for these shenanigans.

But I consider the night a success. It was a night of karmic payback. We are even. It's over. Cancelled out. Basically didn't happen.

I'll never again be so happy to be stuck in the back seat of a car with a puking drunk girl.

And, hopefully, the next time I need to put an embarrassing incident behind me doing so doesn't require vomit exposure therapy.

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