This Is How We Do It

So usually on Friday nights, Nikki and I will venture out the suburbs to mingle with our friends (namely the Kates, Cari, Josh) and to see Krystal, Gresham's finest bartender. The girls usually talk about each other's issues and drama that ensued in the week while I pound PBR's, watch reruns of SportsCenter and make fun of the karaoke talent (or lack thereof).

This last Friday was a doozy. Nikki had been begging me to sing some karaoke and I was having no part of it. I've performed in the past (the greatest stage performance ever) and didn't feel like making an ass of myself.

She hadn't eaten since late that morning and was only going to have a couple of drinks. That would have been fine...if her bartender was anyone else but Krystal. See if you order a Rum & Coke from Krystal, you'll get 8 parts Rum and a half part of Coke. Nikki stuck to her guns and only had three drinks. Soon the anxiety fairy left the bar and Nikki was singing (her go-to song) Push by Matchbox 20. Meanwhile, I stopped playing pool to cut-a-rug with some Amish-looking dude who was dancing like Jim Spagg in a gay pride parade. I broke Nikki's concentration several times as the Amish guy tried breakdancing.

After unsuccessfully ordering food, she decided that water would be the best for her sudden nausea. She got about two sips into the H2O before excusing herself to the bathroom for a vomit conference with the sink, toilet, garbage can, and any poor soul who was in the stall trying to dump in peace. Now I've been witness to many of her puking sessions in the last 3 or 4 years and they are really loud and they tend to be quite messy. So as I sent her sister in the bathroom for consolation purposes, I watched as girl after girl entered and exited the bathroom, staring in amazement at my puking pale princess going down on the garbage can.

She finally came out of the bathroom, a wobbly fuckin' stumbler, with her arm draped around Cari. I had never seen her so drunk as she was leaving the bar. I helped Cari assist her outside and to the edge of the parking lot when Nikki decided that more alcohol needed to escape and touch the pavement. I would say this was a bad night to wear flip-flops. My feet caught the vomit rebound as it ricocheted off the asphalt. To further avoid the bile runoff, I moved my feet as far away from ground zero as possible, a move I'd mastered in a previous episode.

I ended up pulling the car around and grabbing some plastic bags from the back seat to act as a barrier between Nikki's insides and the upholstery of the car. I finally got her home after a few dry heaves and put her on the couch with a garbage can to catch any future deposits. It was about 1:30AM when I finally fell asleep, only to have to report to work in 4 and a half hours.

The moral of the story? There isn't one really...well maybe one. Don't ever puke on my feet. Ever.