Australia: Life Lesson

This past weekend I learnt a very important life lesson at the ripe old age of 30. Yamen and Jo came down from Sydney before tying the knot for a combined bucks/hens night (bachelor/bachelorette party). With Jimmy's help, I planned Friday night for the 10 of us starting with dinner in Chinatown followed by bowling then a pub before possibly ending up in a fine establishment with scantily-clad pole-dancing women known fondly as strippers.

What I planned and what I actually did were two different matters. To summarise what transgressed without going into all the gory details, there was a drinks event at work at 4 and I was having a great time getting my pre-party buzz. Next thing you know, it was 6 o'clock and my coworker said to me in disbelief, "Ev! You drank the entire bottle of champagne by yourself!" I looked at the empty bottle in one hand and an empty glass in the other and thought, "Holy shit!" I couldn't run to the bathroom fast enough where I threw up my party food and sat on the floor for god knows how long. When I finally mustered the strength to leave the confines of the bathroom, everyone had left the office party to continue with their Friday night plans. I successfully made it down the elevator without soiling it with my puke, but as soon as I got out of the building, I threw up on the street. I was walking and throwing up while trying to hail a cab and then throwing up some more while walking all the way to the train station where I threw up again. When I got home, I knew it was over. Fun Evan turned into a party pooping disgrace. Justin tried with all his might to get me out of bed but I just couldn't do it and made him go to our friends without me.

For the next 5 hours, I lied in bed for what seemed like an eternity in hell. I couldn't sleep at all, instead feeling the pain and rawness of my stomach and throwing up everything I drank and ate and then some a thousand times. Benny and Justin finally came home at 3 in the morning from the fun night that I planned. When Justin asked in bed in his drunken stupor how he can help, I begged softly, "Please don't talk, don't move, and don't touch me." He promptly agreed but actions spoke louder than words. Not only was he shaking the bed, rolling around, farting up a storm, and scratching his bum, but he proceeded to tell me, very loudly mind you, how much fun everyone had without me and how I am like a 17-year-old who can't hold her liquor and that no one dislikes me, while singing "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me!" He finally allowed me some peace and quiet by falling asleep and snoring away....That's the loving support I fully expected from my partner.

I miraculously fell asleep after a night of a violent reaction to alcohol poisoning and got up the next morning feeling less than ordinary but understanding Amy Winehouse a little better. Justin got me a bottle of vitamin water, appropriately named "Rehab." My friends forgave me, but not without giving me a lot of grief the rest of the weekend and a couple new nicknames - Spewy le Vom and Vom Vom. My coworkers on the following Monday morning were less kind, naming me Two Pot Screamer (Aussie expression for someone who gets drunk after two drinks) and Cadbury (means a glass and a half, referring to the Cadbury chocolate bar in the UK and Australia advertised as "a glass and a half of full cream milk in every pound"). The lesson here? Life is cruel when you do not know when to stop drinking. And know when to stop or you miss out on fun things with your friends because you're too busy throwing up.