vida

Cats make their own vitamin C!!!
I wish I could do that.

Anyway, I wanted to come blog about the time I got hauled out of a bar in Alberta.

I lived in Grande Prairie for a while. In this sick little suburban hell hole with nothing to do. There was a park behind our house. A gas station and liquor store about a 15 minute walk from the house. Less if you cut through the park.
So usually, a few of us would walk to the liqour store and go drink in the park.
Oh, that just reminded me of the Infamous Boxing Day Gong Show. That's another story.
It's Alberta though, so anywhere around -15 felt like a good day.
Once, I convinced the usual suspects to come out on a pub crawl. Barhopping. That was pretty fun. We met a lot of people along the way and ended up with maybe 20 something people. And we had started out with three.




So this night, we went to the liquor store, drank, stumbled into the gas station all hammed, and called a cab.
I think there were four of us. Yeah. Me, my boys, and the girl who's bed was next to mine. Can't name names. Just incase.

So we got in the cab to go to Rock City ((which used to be the Corral)) because the three of them had been before and liked it. I was always at Maddhatters so they wanted to take me to this other place for a change.
I had a Coldshot in each pocket still. In the cab, we heard this crash and got all confused. Then I realized it was one of the Coldshots that had fallen out of my pocket.
We got there probably around 11pm.
At Rock City, I didn't put my jacket in coat check. I went to the bathroom with my girl. We squeezed into the same stall and had a conversation in French about the boys while I drank.
We went out to the table where the guys were. Had some drinks. I was bored and they kept saying "Just wait, things will pick up in like an hour."
And this went on for an hour.
So I left them and went to a table near the dance floor where four 20-ish guys were sitting.
They bought me drinks, took pictures of me with their cell phones, and kept saying "Just wait."
So probably, another hour passed.
I went out for a smoke.
There was a hole in my pocket and my lighter had fallen out into the lining of my jacket. But I had no idea. So this guy let me use his lighter. He tried to talk to me, but I was speaking slurred French. He and his friends left.
I felt pretty out of it so I leaned against the wall. Then kind of slid and sat there smoking.
Some people came by and offered me weed but I tried to tell them I was already too fucked up. I think I may have been speaking French because they left and blazed with some other girl.
A while later, one of my boys came outside and didn't seem to surprised to see me sitting there in a drunken stupor. He picked me up, walked me back inside to our table, where I promptly vomitted on the floor. Not a lot though. I hadn't really eaten anything that day. Not a big deal.
I have a bit of a track record, being the one person out of eleven to get WAAAAAY too fucked up and puke. I think everyone was tired of looking after me. But I probably would have died if they hadn't. And I redeemed myself at the Gong Show.
So my girl took my to the bathroom so I could throw up. She left to get me some water and all sorts of preppy girls in mini skirts and tube tops were cramming their skinny bodies into the stall, asking repeatedly if I was okay.
I swore in French.
My girl came back with water, took my jacket and made me drink. Then there's suddenly all this screaming like women on tv do when they see a mouse.
The Barbie dolls were freaking out because two security dudes came in to take me away.
As we were walking to the door, I had to stop ond throw up in the sink.
Then one of them actually picked me up and carried me out of the bar.
It was about 2 am at this point.
They had a cab waiting for me and my housemates and they were going to pay for it for us. Which was awesome because we always split fare and one of the boys decided to stay behind so we didn't have enough money between the three of us.
I was sitting in the cab while my poor Quebecois housemates worked things out with the security guards.
I threw up a little bit in the cab.
And then outside the cab.
And I think probably some more when we all got home.

In the morning, I quite literally rolled out of bed. I was standing in a pile of shoes and jackets my housemates had discarded beside my bed. I had on the same jeans and halter top ad the night before. My hair was a tangled mess and I had panda-esque circles of eye makeup around my eyes.
With only a vague, blurry recollection of what I was out doing all night.
Standing there, trying to make sense of it all, I noticed two other female housemates sitting on the couch in our little living room kind of area.
They were both watching me, smiling a little.
They had both looked after me on various ocassions in Nova Scotia when I threw up on our bedroom floor. I think they were probably glad they didn't go out with me that night.
I stumbled across the room to go upstairs and told them "Yeah, you know it's been a good night when you wake up in the morning wearing last night's clothes and having no clue what happened."
I have a lot of good nights.


I just realized, I have to go to work in the morning.
Goodnight kids.

x