Sunday, August 21, 2005

bloody vomitus: why my weekend horked

i met up with naughty last night for a final get-to-gether -- he's scheduled to move back to the states next weekend.

i know what you're thinking: why would i pull a completely stupid and self destructive stunt like that? i dunno, i'm over him so i knew it wouldn't bother me. i didn't even have an urge to fuck him, let alone kiss him. of course, the fact that i sprayed my legs with bloody vomit might have had some sway on my libido last night.

we started the night, him already five sheets to the wind, and me, the half-assed designated driver, at about 11 p.m. or so and sped down the audobahn like a retarded kid in a bockety wheelchair to a local festival. i just want you all to know, by "half-assed designated driver" i simply mean i was sober and drove my car to the fest, but i would leave it there overnight in lieu of driving home drunk...

since i drove to the fest, naughty bought me a bottle of wine of my choice: i picked a not-so-delicate tasting auslese, which is a super sweet german dessert wine. i chugged the bottle with a classiness akin to roseanne barr screeching the national anthem and off to the races we were. we milled about the crowd; i even ran into a fellow partier from my town, which is always cool. i also ran into this 22-year old pip squeak that was following me about like a lost little puppy 4 weekends ago. i felt like a total bitch because i called him the wrong name without even realizing it. i hate it when people so much as misspell my name, so i felt really bad.

then naughty and i hopped aboard some crazy looking carnie ride -- it was like the octupus ride you see at any one of the fifty state fairs, only it was safe looking. for 3 minutes, we were spun, ducked, and jostled about -- not a bad deal for one euro a pop. after the ride, we continued mingling with the other partygoers, steeped in an urge to spread our merry making. as my insatiably bad luck would have it, my head started feeling like two boys on a bicycle: queer.

and all of a sudden, i felt my stomach sink, float, and sink again...i ran over to a building, a puzzled naughty hot on my heels, and i unleashed the fury that was once a tasty wine and a hot crepe, only now it was a pile of gooey mess simmering in a foul funk. naughty finally caught up to me and asked the requisite questions -- apparently, the sight of vomit doesn't disgust him like it does other people. in fact, he made an observation that there was a pile of bloody mess in my vomit -- i guess it was kind of hard for me to see after all that heaving and what with my eyes watering up as though i suffer from allergies, which thankfully i do not.

we went on the ferris wheel where our cab was invaded by a german couple who knew nothing of personal space. never mind the other four cars behind us were completely empty. that pissed me off, but i'm glad to report i puked again while sky high. i hope some of it sprayed on them like light and fluffy seafoam is wont to do in the wake of a raging breeze.

we left the ferris wheel and went traipsing about for a cab. i kept puking. we made it to the cab line, my head ducked close to the ground as though i was touching my toes, only my back was contorted in that position because instead of stretching, i was covering the side walk with my bloody vomit.

finally, i laid down on a short and stubby brick wall. the next thing i know, naughty is waking me up and telling me it's time to get in the cab. my response? yup, a symphony of empty gags; a concierto of dry heaving for any and all to bear witness within a 50-meter radius. if that wasn't bad enough, i began hiccupping like a drunk sailor, only i'm not a sailor, but i was drunk.

in the cab, i puked some more. i flung open the side panel window and freed the fucker before the next bout of cookie tossing began. i finally passed out and the next thing i knew we were at naughty's room. i started protesting gently, but he said he was too tired or something like that to get me to my room, which was about a 15-minute walk.

we got into his room and i was beat from the incessant anareobic exercise that was my night out. he got me some jammies and i started changing. the next thing i know, he is standing behind me, putting his hands on my waste and saying something into my ear. and then his hands are at the waist of my skirt.

really, i was so drunk and fagtastic feeling it didn't even register that he was trying to get down my pants -- i just pushed him away and said i had to use the restroom. he made some comment about i didn't even take into account he was trying to initiate sex, to which i responded, "yes, i feel very sexual what with all this dry puke crusted on my legs..." finally, we went to bed.

can you fucking believe i was still able to puke and then some the following afternoon? it finally died down at about 4 p.m., just in time for the long drive home.

so, i did a lot of things on saturday: i saw naughty, which i was happy about, i drank good wine, i had a crepe, i puked good wine, i puked a crepe, i puked on a ferris wheel (an absolute first for me), and i didn't have sex with naughty, which i was very happy about. i didn't so much as kiss him, as a matter of fact.

i was glad to spend some time with him now that my sour grapes phase has run its course, but i'm no longer sexually attracted to him and i didn't have the guts to say as much.