TMI Thursday: Christmas Done Come Early!

YES, I do know it is WEDNESDAY, despite my debilitating endearing, ahem, absentmindedness. However, since many of us will be traversing across the valleys and snowy hilltops to be with the alcoholics we share blood with people we love most in the world, TMI Thursday is early this week for your horror viewing pleasure. I’ve got a DOOZY for ya, too, but I’m saving it for next Thursday when we’re all bored in our cubefarms, dreaming of the weekend and in great need of a truly coffee-snarfing chuckle.

My official cohorts in TMI Thursday crime, Fatty Lumpa and J of It’s Toasted, are posting theirs early as well, because we love you like that. Everyone else who joins in the awesomely bad and repulsive fun (see Fatty Lumpa’s post today for the Official Rules), I will try to link yours below here, but I worry that I miss some, so be shameless! and leave the tag in the comments as well, here or on Fatty’s or J’s, or all three! If you’re particularly bored.

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A few months ago, I went to visit my sweet Carolina girls for one of their birthdays. I was taking the train out of Union Station, early. Very early. Far, far too early for someone who had decided that they had to be on a train early and could sleep for 5 hours, so they might as well get WASTED while bartending til 3 in the morning and then GO FOR AFTER DRINKS at a certain sketchy 24-hour Chinese restaurant nearby.

I never said I was smart. And if I did, well, I probably was at the time. I can turn it on and off. With booze. Shhhhhh….

I woke up to the alarm I’d set, unable to fathom moving, never mind, yanno, actually being a person and walking out into daylight and not vomming in my hair. Somehow, some way, I managed to get myself cleaned up (read: put hair in ponytail, pulled on big sweatshirt, looked at the toothbrush long enough to convince myself it was the same as actually brushing) and down to the street, where I almost managed to raise my arm in the air to flag a cab. Fortunately, one of them recognized the odor of desperation (or of the previous night’s saki bombs, who knows), and pulled over.

With my last ounce of energy, I heaved myself into the car and lay back. The hard part was over. I shut my eyes and tried to enjoy the whole, “me not having to move” of it all. We took off down Mass Ave, through Dupont Circle. Through Scott. Through Thomas. And on, until we were approaching the intersection with I-395.

The nausea hit me like a tidal wave.

Ohmygod I can’t do this, I HAVE to stop, do I have a bag? What will the cab driver think, this is so embarassing… oh lord, what did I drink last night?? I feel HORRIBLE. Did someone pour me a shot of JAGER? I’m pretty sure that happened. Oh EW don’t think about blacklicoricerightnowOHMYGODICAN’THOLDITIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!…………..

“I’m so sorry, but could we pull over here for a moment!!!” I yelled frantically, unbelievably grateful that we were both at a red light and stuck in gridlock traffic. Panic-striken, the cabbie swung the car over to the curb as I fumbled for the handle and dove out onto the tiny strip of grass. On the side of Massachusetts Avenue, during rush over, I shuddered and dry-heaved my pathetic guts out while the cabbie, a couple of tourist families, and The Lord watched me, their hearts heavy with pity and disgust.

I finally was able to stand up straight, wipe my mouth, and clamber back into the cab. He, of course, was staring at me in the rearview mirror, trying to contain his shock and revulsion (and doing a poor job of it).

“Miss, are you all right?” He asked, to his credit.

Disclaimer: What happened next, I am not proud of. But, interwebs, I cannot hold back the truth. It is too horrific/funny. So enjoy my shame, and know that I truly do think my actions were ahem, slightly despicable.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, knowing that I was a terrible person for what I was about to do. But in that moment, I felt that I had no choice.

“I’m pregnant. My morning sickness has been terrible lately.”

The very sweet cabbie spent the rest of the ride telling me about his pregnant daughter, and what she was going through. He could relate, he said. I shouldn’t feel bad, he said.

I felt dreadful, both physically and emotionally. But he got me to the train station as fast as he could, which was lucky, because once there I had to stop and throw up again in a trash can outside. A very sweet bum asked if I was all right…

And I told him the same damn thing.

Aw well… we all know I’m going to hell anyways!

Happy Turkey Day, hookers!

Fatty Lumpa’s TMI Thursday: Super Punctual This Week

J’s TMI Tuesday

Foggy Dew’s My Little TMI Friday

Doug’s TMI Thursday: Thanksgiving Edition