I know too much time has passed to write a blog about my drunken idiotic journey, but I got to finish off the story. After my co-workers party, we took a cab to a bar, right by my apartment. I vaguely remember, but I was sitting at a table in the back with my buddy Nick drinking a beer. Nick leaves to go to the bathroom and tells me he would be right back. For some reason, I decided to just get up and leave the bar without telling him. I then somehow make it to my apartment and was getting ready to open the door with my keys. I felt the urge to go to the bathroom (#1). In my drunken state, I of course had trouble opening my door. (I also have the same problem when I'm sober.) As I am struggling to get the door open with my keys, the urge to urinate is getting worse and worse. I then decide to stand right in front of my door and urinate in my pants. I think my rationalization was, maybe I can just let a little out and then stop so I would feel better. Apparently, I could not figure out from 24 years of peeing experience that once you start, you cannot stop.
After my bathroom break, I enter my apartment and head straight to the toilet. I get on the ground in front of my toilet and start yacking like there is no tomorrow. I have no idea how long I was vomiting for, but it felt like hours. Apparently during this time, Nick is calling me on my cellphone and landline phones. The doorman will not let Nick up to my apartment unless I answer the phone. I should remind all of you that Nick lives in Northwest Indiana, so he was planning to crash at my place. I think I remember hearing the phone ring, but it felt like there was some type of uncontrollable force keeping me from answering the phone. At this point, Nick is extremly angry with me and he ends up sleeping on the couch in the lobby for a few hours. At the same time, I am passed out next to my toilet with vomit all over me. Nick later tells me, he even contemplated driving back home if he could sober up. Finally, 5 o'clock in the morning rolls around and Nick enters my apartment. I wake up from his entrance and he asks me "Where the Hell was I?" and "How come I didn't answer the phone." I don't remember my reply, but I think it was something along the lines of "Sorry." I then return back to the bathroom ground and start yacking again in the toilet. Hopefully, at this point Nick realized why I was not able to answer the phone.
Eventually the yacking stopped and I was able to stumble to my bed and pass out. In the morning, Nick somewhat forgave me and we joked about my moronic and retarded actions. I also knew buying him Jimmy Johns would win me some points. We also listened to the phone messages he left from the night before. The first message is like "Jon, where the hell are you?" The next message is like "Jon, I'm getting extremely annoyed where the hell are you?" Each message Nick gets increasinly angry. By the tenth one, it sounds like he is literally ready to knock my door down and rip my head off. Fortunately, all these messages are saved and I can listen to them whenver I need a good chuckle.
What a friggin night!
I'm Out!
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