pride, puking and pop
Um, where did the weekend go? I cannot believe that it's Sunday night already. I spent every second of this weekend in the company of others and it seems that time rapidly accelerates under such conditions. I had to beg off attending a cabaret show at Joe's Pub this evening because after a whirlwind weekend, I just needed to come home and unwind. I love socializing and being active but I began feeling overstimulated and needed to just be alone. I can get very Garbo-like at times.
I spent Saturday afternoon in Coney Island gawking at the Mermaid Parade attendees. We never made it to the actual parade because our subway got stuck behind a stalled train on the approach to the Coney Island station. But we managed to get an eyeful nonetheless. To the stringy-haired, really pale man sporting nothing but a flimsy g-string with a long tusk attached to the front, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for the dry heave. I haven't done that lately and my gag reflex and abs needed the workout. On a positive note, your translucent, sickly-looking complexion made me feel a bit better about my fair British skin. Hell, I looked like Malibu Barbie in comparison.
The latter half of the day was spent at several Pride-related functions. The first one we attended looked like a convention of softball coaches. I was not pleased. I may play softball but I don't wear the apparel off the field. The addition of a visor or a pair of Tevas to the ensemble is especially irksome to me.
While getting ready for the evening's festivities, I consumed two Yuenglings. Throughout the course of the evening, I drank several Coronas (the beer selection was rather lacking) and several more Sam Adams Summer Ales. I enjoy the latter but when I drink it on tap, there are dire after effects. I have yet to learn this lesson. I must also learn to eat heartily before going on a bender. I had nothing substantial in my belly to absorb the ridiculous amount of beer I was pouring into it. Late in the evening, I staggered outside with a friend for a cigarette. I totally should not smoke but once in awhile, I get the hankering. My friend's brand of choice is American Spirit. Apparently, the fiberglass and chemicals in other cigarettes are more compatible with my system. A few puffs on one of these all natural cigarettes totally went to my head and well... there was vomiting. Luckily, I was outside when this occurred so there was no embarrassing dash to the bathroom knocking down and/or spraying all in my path. I was sitting on a bench and felt the rumblings so I turned my head and quietly let fly. NO ONE noticed. I was quite proud of my stealth puke. My friend was off getting me a soda when this happened so I thought I got away with the shame of public puking. She returned with the soda and I took a few sips before she went to the bathroom. While she was away, I do believe I fell asleep on the bench. Yes, I was clearly the bar's most notorious sloppy, drunk girl last night. Someone poked me and asked, "Are you okay?" I opened my eyes and thanked them and waved them off. Just as I was saying I was fine, I got the uh-oh feeling again and, well, there was more vomiting. This time there was a barking noise and splashing involved. It was not a casual barf whatsoever. God bless the women around me because before I knew it, I was handed a bottle of water, two Tylenol and a poppy-seed roll (there was a deli right next to the bar).
The second spew was the one that returned me to normalcy. Sometimes you just need a good ralph to set you straight. And sure enough, I perked right up and became bar friends with my saviors. They were a lovely couple from Brooklyn and I thanked them profusely before I left. The cab ride home was slightly dodgy with the constant stop-go movement and the way that NY cabs seem to catch air when going over potholes. That bouncing around didn't do me any favors. Luckily, my cab driver was the nicest man. I got yelled at once before when I entered a taxi on the brink of puking. The driver threatened to kick me out of the cab but I managed to convince him that I could hold it in. Thankfully I did hold it in but that driver was the biggest bitch about it. Last night's driver was really compassionate and offered to adjust the air conditioning and try alternate routes to get me home faster. He was quick on the draw to open and close my window based on the shade of green I was turning. He checked in with me and asked how I was feeling throughout the ride. If I wasn't an exhausted sloppy mess, I would have made note of his medallion number and sent a note of high praise to the Taxi and Limousine Commission. He did me a solid but sadly I was too drunk to return the favor.
I'm happy to report that there were no additional bouts of chundering. I took a shower, put on my pajamas and passed out in bed without once waking up wondering if another heave was on deck. I rolled out of bed at 1:00pm, cursed myself while cleaning the shrapnel off my cute Spanish slides and then made my way into Manhattan for the Pride parade. I played social butterfly for a bit and then settled in with some good friends at a bar off the parade route. With a stomach still slightly off-kilter, I stuck to seltzer. Later, we went to a party on a rooftop in Little Italy and I maintained my sobriety, even passing up a bong and 'shrooms. I was tired of being in an altered state and just needed to be aware and in control. Instead, I took in the scenery and inhaled the brisk breeze on the rooftop and that was enough for me. I also had a lovely conversation with a guy who was actually one of the kids in a Jell-o commercial with Bill Cosby years ago. Of course, he could have been lying but it sounded good. We were all captivated and asked lots of follow-up questions: "How is Billy Cosby? Was he nice?" "Did you get tons of free pudding?" "How do you feel about Jell-o Pudding Pops?"
So now I'm ending my weekend with a cup of tea and the Subway Series (go Yankees!!!) The sounds of the game and the soothing rattle of the A/C are a welcome change from the whistle-blowing and screaming and the disco and pop that filled the past few days. I seriously reached my limit with "Toxic," "Hey Ya!" and "Yeah." They are all catchy tunes in their own rite but the three formed an unholy alliance and tailed me the entire weekend. I'm so happy to be home alone, no longer battling a hangover and finally free of the tyranny of Top 40.
I spent Saturday afternoon in Coney Island gawking at the Mermaid Parade attendees. We never made it to the actual parade because our subway got stuck behind a stalled train on the approach to the Coney Island station. But we managed to get an eyeful nonetheless. To the stringy-haired, really pale man sporting nothing but a flimsy g-string with a long tusk attached to the front, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for the dry heave. I haven't done that lately and my gag reflex and abs needed the workout. On a positive note, your translucent, sickly-looking complexion made me feel a bit better about my fair British skin. Hell, I looked like Malibu Barbie in comparison.
The latter half of the day was spent at several Pride-related functions. The first one we attended looked like a convention of softball coaches. I was not pleased. I may play softball but I don't wear the apparel off the field. The addition of a visor or a pair of Tevas to the ensemble is especially irksome to me.
While getting ready for the evening's festivities, I consumed two Yuenglings. Throughout the course of the evening, I drank several Coronas (the beer selection was rather lacking) and several more Sam Adams Summer Ales. I enjoy the latter but when I drink it on tap, there are dire after effects. I have yet to learn this lesson. I must also learn to eat heartily before going on a bender. I had nothing substantial in my belly to absorb the ridiculous amount of beer I was pouring into it. Late in the evening, I staggered outside with a friend for a cigarette. I totally should not smoke but once in awhile, I get the hankering. My friend's brand of choice is American Spirit. Apparently, the fiberglass and chemicals in other cigarettes are more compatible with my system. A few puffs on one of these all natural cigarettes totally went to my head and well... there was vomiting. Luckily, I was outside when this occurred so there was no embarrassing dash to the bathroom knocking down and/or spraying all in my path. I was sitting on a bench and felt the rumblings so I turned my head and quietly let fly. NO ONE noticed. I was quite proud of my stealth puke. My friend was off getting me a soda when this happened so I thought I got away with the shame of public puking. She returned with the soda and I took a few sips before she went to the bathroom. While she was away, I do believe I fell asleep on the bench. Yes, I was clearly the bar's most notorious sloppy, drunk girl last night. Someone poked me and asked, "Are you okay?" I opened my eyes and thanked them and waved them off. Just as I was saying I was fine, I got the uh-oh feeling again and, well, there was more vomiting. This time there was a barking noise and splashing involved. It was not a casual barf whatsoever. God bless the women around me because before I knew it, I was handed a bottle of water, two Tylenol and a poppy-seed roll (there was a deli right next to the bar).
The second spew was the one that returned me to normalcy. Sometimes you just need a good ralph to set you straight. And sure enough, I perked right up and became bar friends with my saviors. They were a lovely couple from Brooklyn and I thanked them profusely before I left. The cab ride home was slightly dodgy with the constant stop-go movement and the way that NY cabs seem to catch air when going over potholes. That bouncing around didn't do me any favors. Luckily, my cab driver was the nicest man. I got yelled at once before when I entered a taxi on the brink of puking. The driver threatened to kick me out of the cab but I managed to convince him that I could hold it in. Thankfully I did hold it in but that driver was the biggest bitch about it. Last night's driver was really compassionate and offered to adjust the air conditioning and try alternate routes to get me home faster. He was quick on the draw to open and close my window based on the shade of green I was turning. He checked in with me and asked how I was feeling throughout the ride. If I wasn't an exhausted sloppy mess, I would have made note of his medallion number and sent a note of high praise to the Taxi and Limousine Commission. He did me a solid but sadly I was too drunk to return the favor.
I'm happy to report that there were no additional bouts of chundering. I took a shower, put on my pajamas and passed out in bed without once waking up wondering if another heave was on deck. I rolled out of bed at 1:00pm, cursed myself while cleaning the shrapnel off my cute Spanish slides and then made my way into Manhattan for the Pride parade. I played social butterfly for a bit and then settled in with some good friends at a bar off the parade route. With a stomach still slightly off-kilter, I stuck to seltzer. Later, we went to a party on a rooftop in Little Italy and I maintained my sobriety, even passing up a bong and 'shrooms. I was tired of being in an altered state and just needed to be aware and in control. Instead, I took in the scenery and inhaled the brisk breeze on the rooftop and that was enough for me. I also had a lovely conversation with a guy who was actually one of the kids in a Jell-o commercial with Bill Cosby years ago. Of course, he could have been lying but it sounded good. We were all captivated and asked lots of follow-up questions: "How is Billy Cosby? Was he nice?" "Did you get tons of free pudding?" "How do you feel about Jell-o Pudding Pops?"
So now I'm ending my weekend with a cup of tea and the Subway Series (go Yankees!!!) The sounds of the game and the soothing rattle of the A/C are a welcome change from the whistle-blowing and screaming and the disco and pop that filled the past few days. I seriously reached my limit with "Toxic," "Hey Ya!" and "Yeah." They are all catchy tunes in their own rite but the three formed an unholy alliance and tailed me the entire weekend. I'm so happy to be home alone, no longer battling a hangover and finally free of the tyranny of Top 40.
Labels: booze, nyc, pride, puke
posted by curly mcdimple @ 9:08 PM :: permalink :: ::
