I wake up completely drunk from the night before. The sun is shining through the blinds onto my face giving me a euphoric feeling of wastedness and comfort while an uncontrollable smile forces itself upon my face when I realize that I am waking up, hammered, in my own bed. This incredible ease lasted for all of 20 seconds until I was reminded of my actions due to flashbacks of the night before. I immediately jump out of my bed to find myself bare ass naked – hell I even do that sober…sleeping naked is awesome – but I’m not really shamed by it just confused as to how my clothes were even removed from my body. I run to the window to pull up the blinds and hope to find my car sitting in its designated spot in the driveway. To my dismay…it’s not. I then rush to my purse to call all friends whom I was with last to investigate the situation…phone MIA. Within minutes, the flashbacks from last night became my reality.
January 2010. I’ve been an official employee of the place where I pretend to be a functioning adult for about 4 months and I finally give in to a co-worker Friday night outing in Morristown. I’ve held back for so long due to my inability of pacing and censoring myself. I decide to not eat that day but rather drink my calories. Since this outing was in honor of a co-workers birthday I couldn’t show up empty handed. I bring over a large bottle of Jack Daniels and tell the birthday boy, “let’s party.” After pulling a sweet Batman and Robin and drinking more than half the bottle we decide it’s time to go out…and continue to drink. At this time, the party consisted of my co-worker, his sexy ass roommate who’s wiener I had the pleasure of touching later in life, and his adorable sweetheart of a friend from college who happens to be my indirect sorority sister. Score, someone to hold my hair back.
The Review:
Sona. This bar is dark and loud and plays typical pop/dance/rap hits. The coolest part is that the second floor is really the first floor and the first floor is a well-decorated basement. I’ve been there during daylight hours as well and the food is pretty tasty. If I lived in Morristown I’d probably frequent there more-so than other bars. Male to female ratio is probably 35:65. In bar culture that’s 50:50. Good selection of beers on tap and duh they have a wide variety of the brown’s because it’s what you drink when you’re tryina rageeee. I did not frequent enough to know much about the staff but I imagine they’re all relatively attractive young people dressed in black and always smiling…because they get paid to make fun of your drunk ass.
We wait on line for 10 minutes, enter the doors, and book it to the basement where we are to meet the rest of the party and a few other co-workers. Everyone has still not arrived and the four of us rip a celebratory birthday shot…of Jack Daniels…and I chase it…with a Jack & Diet. More shots are ordered and more shots are consumed. Finally, the others arrive. I mingle and socialize until the feeling of being completely lost and abandoned like everyone I know has suddenly disappeared takes over my being. The entire party is within a 5 foot radius. I grab a seat at the bar and request a cup of ice. I chew on the ice and have people talking to me. All I hear is umpa-lumpa-doo-pa-de-doo. I puke in my mouth, sallow it, then grab the arm of a co-worker standing next to me and plead, “please take me to a bathroom.” The co-worker does not know where the closest ladies restroom is and decides we have time to ask a bouncer to direct us to the nearest. I proceed to projectile vomit all over the hallway, the bouncer’s feet, and in the cupped hands of my innocent co-worker. Why he cupped his hands to catch my vomit still irks me. I’m escorted into a bathroom where I lock myself in a stall to privately humiliate myself. I puke and cry and hate myself. The door opens. My indirect sorority sister of an angel closes the stall door behind her, rubs my back, and holds my hair. She repeats, “it’s okay, it’s okay” making me feel as though my behavior is totally acceptable.
After my puke session, I’m driven home by the pukey cupped handed co-worker. I leave my cell phone in his car. I don’t remember entering my home, taking my clothes off, or getting into bed. I wake up happy as a clam. I wake up to the horrid realization that I’m a complete mess of a person and proved so to my co-workers. If they judge me they’re assholes. I have no clothes on. I have no car. I have no phone. I facebook message my co-workers asking them, “where is my car and where is my phone.” Therefore I have no shame. My mom hated me that day.
Grow up to be like me. I’m awesome.
Be good,
TBR
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