elegantwaste's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- puking If anybody's wondering why I didn't talk about my trip to not-so-sunny CA, it's because at the wedding I got really drunk and puked all over the bridesmaid's bedroom and then had to face her the next morning along with the entire family as I waited for my good friend the bride who I had never met before to quit ignoring me and fucking around with her wedding pictures, which of course she was entirely entitled to do since this was the day after her wedding, and I had to face my reputation as 'that wild canadian girl who puked everywhere' from these people for the rest of my life. And whenever anybody tells stories about the wedding, it's a distinct possibility that my name will come up as the only thing that made it less than perfect. The Canadian puker. Now, bear in mind that this was in no way my fault, because after the couple left for the hotel, I started hanging out with her crazy parents and friends, and my glass of red wine was never empty. Miracle of modern glass-refilling-when-i-wasn't-looking, that was. Also, they ordered pizza. Now, I know red wine goes with red meat, but on pizza? Not so much. Also bear in mind that I had no memory of the vomiting. I remember waking up and seeing vomit and trying to clean it up. But the actual puking? Nuh uh. (Aside: red wine puke? Bad. Not easy to clean. No.) In all versions of my trip I've told thus far, this incident has been erased, so count yourselves lucky that you know the real reason my trip was less-than-perfect - cause I spent the last half of it uncomfortable, sick, and humiliated. Bygones. Other than that, though, it was crazy fun hanging out at Berkeley with my friends, driving down the coast, seeing LA, seeing San Diego, and god, meeting my friend the bride who I've talked to for 9 years online but never met in person. And it was a bit stilted and uncomfortable at first, but, god. I cried like a baby at the ceremony, and again at the greeting thing, and again at their dance, because, that was her. The girl my mother warned me was a 60 year old pervert. And every single person at the wedding I was introduced to told me that meeting me was almost more important to her than the wedding. And then I puked all over her sister's room. Right, now, you see, don't you, the problem. Why I wasn't a barrel of fun the next day? It was inevitable, of course. Every wedding or large party of any kind there has to be the person who gets drunk and pukes, or takes off their clothes and dances on tables, or sleeps with the bride or groom or bridesmaid or groomsmen, or breaks up the wedding, or dies, or what the fuck ever. I should be lucky I only threw up, but yes, that it was me? How fucking unsurprising is that. It's always me. Because I am one unlucky biotch. And that's the story. 3:44 p.m. - 2003-07-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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