TMI Thursday: Vom.

After a break from TMIness for the holidays, we’re back, baby. The past couple of rounds have been about other people, but this one’s about me.

Old Vommitt Grill

Not but a couple of years ago, a group of I think five began the night at Clarendon Ballroom. Buoyed by a bartender we knew, I proceeded to drink myself under the table with rum and cokes that were much more rum than coke. I don’t remember how many I had, but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t driving. We hung out for awhile and for some reason heretofore lost, we decided to head to the Old Ebbitt Grill in the city.

Once there, we parked streetside and ambled into the restaurant, eventually taking a seat in a booth near the bar. I alternated between staring at the ceiling and staring at the table until someone decided to order food.

This would be my undoing.

By the time I got around to realizing that food was on the table, there were pieces of grilled chicken and a mound of pico de gallo sitting alongside a mound of sour cream. Sober, I would have said something along the lines of “Why, this chicken and pico de gallo look tasty. I don’t need any sour cream, but I would like to partake of the rest of this tasty goodness,” but since I wasn’t sober, my thoughts were “Mmmmmm” and “Want!” so I did what any sane and rational drunk would do. Eat the chicken.

And then eat the pico de gallo and sour cream. By the spoonful.

Fat and happy, I sat there no longer hungry for a bit. Ten minutes later, happiness turned to sickness and I needed to excuse myself from the table. Remarkably, I managed to find the restrooms without assistance, even making it down the stairs without falling. I made for a stall, closed the door, and proceeded to absolutely wreck it. I’d say that 60% of my puke made it where it was supposed to go. And that’s with the caveat that it was supposed to go on the back of the toilet lid, toilet tank, and floor. The other 40%? In the actual toilet. 0% got on my clothes. I’m a vomit marksman.

Freed from the upchuckious clutches, I went back to the table and tried not to breathe on anyone. I passed out in the car on the way home, and fell onto my bed face down in my clothes. I woke up in the middle of the night and brushed my teeth, changed clothes, and went back to bed. Shockingly I was not hungover in the morning. To this day, it remains the only time I’ve ever actually puked because of alcohol, but I’ll always blame it on the sour cream.

TMI Thursday - Vom.

4 Responses

  1. “Upchuckious” just became my new favorite word.

    I truly believe throwing up when wasted lessens the hangover in the morning. Not to be practiced, perhaps, but when it happens on its own, it definitely has its silver lining.

    i’ve sooo vom-ed at old ebbit too…ok ..well i think i was in the ladies room but still i feel more bonded to you now

    ps..thats bonded..not boned..i had to look several times…so im gonna slow down the dwinking now…

  3. It was the food, not the booze. I had a friend who puked his guts out over a bag of Doritos taco flavored chips, and he can’t even look at them, let alone eat them again.

    I like Old Ebbitt in the winter, so kuddos for going there. Your rep can be that you only puke at the best.

  4. [...] I-66’s TMI Thursday: Vom. [...]

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