Drunkity, Drunk, Drunk, Drunk

Last weekend I was in New Orleans.

Last Saturday I was in the Quarter.

J was in town and I met up with him so that we could hang out.

Quite honestly, I think a large part of why we got together was because he needed to escape his immediate family for a few hours.

Sure, we missed each other (it's probably been years since we didn't see each other on a semi-daily basis), but I've spent time with his nieces so believe you me - he was needing a good excuse to get away.

So, we were kicking back, checking out the cute boys and knocking back drinks (you know, the usual things ex-husbands and wives do together) when I spotted a sign for Handgrenades.

You see, this is the honest truth, I'd never had a Handgrenade and what kind of New Orleanian would I be without ever having had one.

Something about the lime green half-yard with the handgrenade base and the toy handgrenade floating on top just seemed so fun.

So, I looked at J and said, "How 'bout it?" He smirked and said, "If we get one of those we'll get drunk."

I looked at him and said, "Uhm, hmm: and?"

He said, "It's only 2 in the afternoon!"

I said, "So, it's perfectly acceptable."

We sidled up to the "walk-through" window (where I'm certain I saw a sign that said, "You must be at least this tall to buy drinks here.") and each ordered one.

I don't really remember finishing my drink, but I do remember finishing J's.

We'd stumbed into a t-shirt store and J found a neon orange New Orleans Correctional Facility T that he just had to have.

But, the place was lacking dressing rooms and I said, "Just take your shirt off right here and try it on."

Well, maybe I slurred that just a little.

Now people, J doesn't need very much encouragement to take off his shirt in public. So, just like that, there he was: shirtless.

And God help me, it was a case of you don't know what you got 'til it's gone, because dude is smokin'! (Yeah, it may have been the copious amounts of liquor I had just imbibed, but he did look pretty good.)

The shirt didn't fit, but at least he got to take off his shirt in a public place.

After this we wandered over to some benches in front of The Market Cafe.

I don't remember very much of our conversation, but I think it was pretty deep.

Then Curl, my brother, called me because we were going to meet him and S to see Kinsey at Canal Place.

And the second my brother heard my voice he sneered, "You're drunk!"

I quickly passed the phone to J.

Shortly after hanging up with Curl, I called S. S was also acutely aware that sobriety had left the building.

If I recall correctly, his response was an amused, "You sound like you're having a good time."

In my haze, we arranged for him to meet us for the movie as well.

Hours later (okay, maybe like 30 minutes), I called him and said, "Where are you?"

To which he responded, "Can you see me yet?"

I looked up and he was on his cell walking towards me with a huge grin on his face.

I faught the urge to run to him all cheesy-movie-like and grinned back.

Poor guy, I think I sort of jumped on him and started macking on him right there, in front of my ex.

Then the rest is all a blur.

There was a 12 oz draft involved and then a few martinis.

I seem to remember a Venti Soy Pumpkin Spice Latte and me giggling as I walked into the already darkened theater.

I heard my brother hiss, "You're drunk."

And then, I lost it.

Perhaps it was the frightening sight of Peter Saarsgard's flacid penis, or maybe it was the pencil drawings of an aroused vagina, all I know is before I got there, Canal Place had impeccably clean bathrooms.

That's right folks, I threw up.

Tossed my cookies, ralphed, vomitted, puked, worshipped the porcelain god: whatever you want to call it, there was your's truly.

This was round one.

I managed to puke one more time before the movie ended (I think it may have been shortly after witnessing the gentleman who could become erect and climax in a ten second span, and really, wouldn't that make any woman sick?)

That was round two.

With J on one side and S on the other, we made it back to the car without any further incidents.

Somehow, I thought I was out of the woods, but it is clear to me now that God is evil.

I was merely experiencing an intermission.

S , also quite experienced in the art of copious imbibing, took this brief break to take care of his girl.

He popped into a corner drugstore and purchased a bottle of aspirin and a Sprite.

He offered to get water, but I insisted on Sprite.

And really, what wise man argues with his drunken girlfriend.

I thought I was okay. I really did, and then: round three.

On the way home, J and I were following S in my car (J was driving!) and I looked at J and said, "Pull over. PULL OVER NOW!" Mere seconds after he stopped the car, I flung the door open and lost all of the Sprite and the two aspirin I had just taken.

(Thanks J for rubbing my back and not making fun of me.)

In the process of throwing up, the entire bottle of aspirin that S had just bought managed to fall out of the car and straight smack into my river of vomit.

I thought to myself, "Dammit!"

So, I leaned out, gingerly picked up the bottle and shook it clean.

J asked, "You're not actually going to keep those are you?"

I looked at him and said, "Dude, he bought these in the Quarter, do you KNOW what they cost?"

Ya'll we were on the way to my house to drop off my car and myself and for some asinine reason I convinced the boys to take me with them to drop off J.

DUDES!!!!

WHY DO YOU LISTEN TO ME!!!!

I think, I think, I went another five rounds with this whole "STOP THE CAR" nonsense and most of those were with S driving.

And ya'll, he was great. What with the rubbing my back as I leaned over to vomit and holding my hair back.

HE HELD MY HAIR BACK - he totally loves me!

In all, I threw up eight rounds and I learned a few things:

Handgrenades are evil.

I'm just as much of a lightweight as I was at 19 (the last time I got this sick).

My reflexes are just as good as they were when I was 19 (not a speck of vomit hit me or my car).

S is an amazing, patient boyfriend.

J is an amazing, patient friend.

Pumpkin Spice Latte is just as tasty the second time around.