We had a couple glasses of Chardonnay with dinner, and then we went back to Josh's apartment (we had a late reservation, and were the last in the restaurant) so that he could shower the food smell offa him. We each had a Michelob Light, then we went to a bar that played a lot of The Eagles and The Creedance Clearwater Revivals. I had never met Josh before, but he seemed really nice and cool and quite cute, and short. He said he wants to move to California and I said "San Diego?" and he said "yeah!" so I said I'd come with him, and Nicole said she wanted to go too, and we all said Michelle would go if we all went, just emptied our bank accounts and drove. Michelle said that the three of us, the girls, could all get jobs in the same environmental engineering firm, and I told Josh that if that happened, he wouldn't even HAVE to get a job, as long as he had dinner on the table when we got home, everything would be cool.
We were having a good night and everything was cool, and I felt like I was laying a foundation with this Josh guy (I invited him to the Halloween party, but he's working that night) and then we went back to his place and smoked a bowl and I took two hits and then a few minutes later -- yes. ouch. There went the beautiful gourmet filet mignon, down the terlit.
More than being sick, more than feeling gross and smelly, more than sleeping most of the night on the bathroom floor, more than getting sick the next day when nothing's left but yellow bile, more than that awful hungover feeling, more than any of that, is the shame. Are the looks and comments from Michelle. Is the "foundation shmoundation" thought. I am immeasurably embarassed and ashamed. I'm twenty-four years old and I should be able to control my fucking drinking by now; this wasn't even "oh man I got sick last night" but then you feel a little better, this was "I couldn't leave the bathroom floor". What a fucking first impression. The dude at the bar was giving me a double shot of Jim Beam with a splash of Coke, really, but I KNEW that and didn't account for that. Or the fact that I had three (3) different types of alcohol. Or that bowl, I'll bet it was those two hits that put me over the edge, but I should have predicted that as well.
This morning I laid on Michelle's mom's bed and told Mary that when I drank at home it was never a problem; I know how much I'm drinking and how much shit I'm putting in there. But then later I realized that the last time I was sick before this was at Jeff and Vince and Kevin's house, and that's not a bar. And Michelle was there that night too! And before that I think it was when we went to Brownie's in Ardmore, and I drank too much because we qualified for a time-dependant special, and then I got sick in Michelle's boyfriend's car. Man, no wonder Michelle fucking hates me. I get sick 3% of the time I drink, and she's there for every one of them. Pathetic. Disgusting. I knew I should have volunteered to drive.
So eventually I made it back here, and took a shower and got into bed around eleven. Then I woke up at six. Six. Six o'clock. Good thing Eagles weren't playing today. Six o'clock! My whole day is gone! And oh MAN am I going to be up late tonight! Damn. I do feel almost completely okay, though, though I am real hungry. This soda-milk is helping bunches.