TMI Thursday: I See a Car Door and I Want To Paint It Black

Yes, I could totally do a TMI Thursday (read last week’s here) about being violently, violently ill yesterday. But you were expecting that, weren’t you? Too easy. Also, it’s way too fresh in my mind- maybe once the pain has subsided a bit. On the plus side, I’m guessing I lost about 5 pounds. Count it!

Instead, I will take you back to my teenage-hood… during my glory days as a T.G.I. Friday’s host. (You may now mock the blogger.)

I was 16 years old and fairly new to the “sauce.” (Read: Could not yet hold my liquor.) This was a problem, as all of the servers and bartenders were 18-30 years old, and professional potheads/druggies/boozehounds. Like any other munchkin hanging with an “older crowd,” I tried desperately to hold my own whenever my fake I.D. (that said I was 22, thank the lord for being a young, stupid, pretty girl, or my ass woulda been in jail so many times…) would get me into whatever shady dive bar they were getting plastered at that night. Actually, that’s a lie, it was always the same shady dive bar, and I loved it.

One particular evening, they decided to introduce me to Irish carbombs. Let it be said, I ADORE Irish carbombs. NOW. (Mmmm, chocolate milk…nomnomnom) But when you’re 16 years old, running 3 seasons a year (i.e. body fat is 12%) and weigh 110 pounds soaking wet, 5 carbombs in a night? Is a problem, no matter how Scotch-Irish your blood may be.

Thankfully, one of the servers, Keith, had taken on the role of big brother, and took to seeing that I got home safely on nights like these. He saved me from myself more times than I can count, and even when I did fall down the rabbit hole, he was always there to pull me back out. When I could no longer stand, he carried me to his car and strapped me into the passenger’s seat. It was mid-winter in New England, which means approximately 11 degrees before the wind chill. We started the trek home on I-290, a highway running through Worcester, Mass.

I was, for the most part, passed out, until I started awake with the unmistakable feeling that those carbombs had been rejected and were coming out the way they’d gone in, whether I liked it or not. My cohort quickly realized what my flailing arms meant, but we were going 80 mph on a stretch of highway notorious for its never-ending roadwork… i.e., pulling over is not an option. He managed to get the window lowered just in time- just in time for me to coat his brand new Subaru WRX with regurgitated dairy and whiskey.

Finally home, it was too dark to survey the damage. I slurred out a heartfelt apology as Keith helped me into the house and we crashed on the futon in the basement as we had many nights before.

The morning dawned far too quickly, and Keith had to work the lunch shift. The previous night was (understandably) hazy, and I walked him outside, having forgotten the disastrous ride home… until we saw the car.

There was the remnants of 5 Irish carbombs, splattered AND FROZEN across the entire length of the beautiful little car. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He did, and if he’d been a lesser man, I believe he would have squeezed a tear or two. But it was Massachusetts and effing freezing out, and it would have just turned into a wee icicle at the corner of his eye anyway.

As he had to go to work, there was no time to do anything about it… but he told me in great, painful detail later how hard he had worked to CHIP MY VOMIT OFF OF HIS BRAND NEW CAR. No big deal.

Thankfully, karma is a dirty, dirty whore, and a month later I was giving him a ride home after he’d had his wisdom teeth out.

He wasn’t feeling very well, he said.

We’re almost home, I said.

The words were hardly out of my mouth when the dashboard of my Nissan Quest (ooo, sexy!) was covered with putrid black vomit.

At least I had the courtesy to decorate the OUTSIDE of his car…

“Ah, well,” I told him. “All’s fair in booze and vomit!”

Read today’s other TMI Thursdays here (check back for updates)…

Arjewtino‘s TMI Thursday: Top 8 Embarrassing Relics From My Childhood

Zipcode‘s TMI Thursday: Your Sex is on Fire Edition

Katherine‘s TMI Thursday: Where I Overshare For Your Pleasure, Vol. 2

Thoughts‘ I’m Pretty Dern Busy!

Lacochran‘s “I Want It… I Want It… I Want It…” -The Who

J‘s TMI Thursday: Game Time

f.B‘s A Puddled Past

Brookem‘s TMI Thursday: That Ain’t Cool, Period.

Caitlin‘s TMI Thursday

Single Girl‘s TMI Thursdays Gets Its Own Entry