Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Not even the craziest New Year's Eve I have ever had. But still... there is a story there. Yes. Yes, there is.

When the year 2000 rolled into 2001, I had been living in The Land Of Port-lia for about a year. Mr. Hed and I were not yet married, but we had landed ourselves a sweet pad in the Goose Hollow area. We had a double income, and no kids. Life was pretty fucking sweet back then... not that it isn't now, but damn. There are times when I sure do miss being able to do what I want when I want.

But I digress, because at that time, I was looking forward to having what we have now. Whatever. Can't have it both ways. I know this. It's cool.

Anyway, on this particular night, we walked to a downtown bar near the waterfront, to meet up with some friends. It was a nice walk, and I didn't really think much of it.

At the bar, we proceeded to drink ourselves silly with our friends. Yeah, it was a good time. I am not sure how much I had on my own, but I was pretty glad to know that the train would take us home, and we didn't have to think about driving.

But when that time came, apparently there were "rioters" in the streets. I don't know if there was an actual riot then, but there were at least seven katrillion police cars blocking the MAX tracks leading toward my warm bed, where I had been planning on sleeping this off with minimal effort in getting my tired, drunk ass there.

I also really had to pee. I was not amused.

Realizing that we were going to have to walk back home, we left the train, and began our journey back.

For those of you who don't know, Downtown Portland works its way uphill, until you are uptown. I have no idea if this was intentional at the time, but in any case, we had to walk up a big, stupid, annoying, hill that we had not planned on walking up when we chose to drink as much as we did at the aforementioned bar.

I also realized pretty quickly that my bladder was not going to make it home in the particular state it happened to be in at that moment in time. No. No, it sure wasn't.

We knocked on a few pub doors, but everyone was afraid of the "rioting" that was supposedly taking place right next to us. Honestly, I am unclear as to whether or not I was so drunk that I did not notice severe violence happening just mere feet from my person, or if people were overreacting.

Methinks the latter was probably the case... somehow.

At any rate, there were no pots in the Inn. Or that Inn. Or... the other Inn. No one letting us in.

So, I did the next best thing. I found a bush, pulled down my jeans, and proceeded to do my thing.

Suddenly, I heard honking, whistling, and yelling. Then I realised it was coming from behind me. And then I realised that I was standing next to, and above the 405 freeway. And... then, I realised that everyone was stopped on said freeway, due to the "rioting", that somehow also affected the arterial that runs through our fair city.

Yes, I am sexy. And I know it.

Finishing up, I did a little curtsy, and went on my merry way.

By this time, we were closer to home, and I was feeling somewhat better. My belly wasn't too happy with me, but I figured I would deal with it by munching a few saltine crackers upon arrival.

When we got to the last hill, things took kind of a bad turn though. I felt a bit like a soda, or beer that had been shaken. That is not a good feeling. I'm glad that bottles are not people, because it would suck to be nauseated constantly. This is rare for me, by the way. I have almost no gag reflex. True story. I even tried to be bulimic once. It... just would not come up! I never even experienced morning sickness later on with either of my pregnancies.

Blowing chunks is just not part of who I am. I have faced this reality, and I think I've come to terms.

But by the time I reached the hill, and I could see my home... that's exactly what I did. And this was the one, and only time I have ever gotten sick after drinking. I am just glad that Mr. Hed had already gone inside.

No one needs to see that.


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