Kim’s High Point of Summer Hilarity: And the Aftermath
I’m back after my summer long hiatus, bitches. And I’ve returned with plenty of new material, and have also been reminded of some old material, which I can use during those times I feel reminiscent. But first, I must vent that there are 18 Tim Hortons locations in Sudbury, Ontario…and one Starbucks, which is a kiosk inside Chapters and not within convenient walking distance of where I live. I have had zero good Starbucks beverages since I left Calgary on my way out here.
So there were many good times this summer, which ranged anywhere from nights at the Max, to floating down the river, to camping in the boonies and deciding that swimming 3 kilometers to an island was a good idea only to feel dizzy and end up with sore ears afterward, to attending a Kamloops GALA (Gay and Lesbian Association Party), to getting drunk in the mid-afternoon in Kelowna in 40 degree heat on the Carlos O’Brian’s patio, to going to Castlegar for no particular reason and drinking at THE (Read: ONLY) night club, to endless nights at Cactus Jack’s, to getting hammered at the one and only football game I went to watch in Kamloops and then taking the party to the bar…yes, it was a summer of endless nonsense.
One night, however, stands out above the rest in terms of me making a total ass of myself and annoying the shit out of my co-workers the following day. It was the weekend early in July that Ceire came up to visit. Now, these nights are generally messy, but this one was the worst of all time. I don’t know how I managed to not fall off the 4 inch pink stiletto heels I was wearing, but I deem myself a pro. The night started like every other when Ceire comes to town; dinner out (I think we actually went to Milestone’s instead of Earl’s this time), followed by pre-drinking at Katie’s place. Well we bought a 26 of Finlandia and began drinking. That coupled with the drinks at dinner and the 2 vodka Rockstars I drank while getting ready resulted in a pretty buzzed Kim before heading down to CJs.
So, we got to the bar and someone came up with the marvelous idea to see how much I can actually drink in a night before I pass out or puke. This meant actually keeping track, which is scary since I usually just wake up feeling like crap and with an empty wallet. And it began…We bypassed the inevitable line thanks to my lovely friend Jon who always works on Saturdays as a bouncer at CJs and therefore can’t share these joyous drunk experiences with me like he used to. Arriving at CJs before midnight gets you a free drink ticket, so we cashed that in immediately and one of the bartenders gave us some shots along with our drinks which was an excellent (yet terrible) way to start the evening.
We moved along and I ran into some more people I knew who bought us some shots. It dawned on me at this moment that half my problem in regard to hangovers is because of the fact that when people buy me shots, I don’t specify what I’m drinking and end up with a shit mix of whatever in my stomach, which is generally terrible. Sour Jacks are definitely the worst and I recall drinking at least a couple of these that night. There were two nights this past summer that I turned down alcohol due to being too drunk, and this night was not one of them.
The night soon turned into a whirlwind of bluriness and drunken nonsense. I vaguely recall having some stupid incoherent conversations with people. I’m sure I made some friends; I’m sure I pissed some people off. But what did it matter? I was having a blast. The weird thing is, I don’t know who the hell I was hanging out with because Ceire and Katie do not factor in most of the memories I have of that night. Katie said after this that she wasn’t with Ceire for most of the night either. Oh well, we all made it out alive.
In any case, Elisha and Mike Warrington, two co-workers of mine arrived at the bar later in the evening and heard of my glorious plan to see how much I could drink. It was about 12:30 or 1 at this point in my life and I’d had about 20 ounces thus far. I was feeling great and should have stopped. But I didn’t. Mike apparently bought like 8 Jagerbombs between 5 of us, and one was supposed to be for Ceire but she either declined or mysteriously disappeared, I can’t remember. But of course, being the good Samaratin that I am, offered to drink hers. There was Mike, Elisha, and I and then two bartenders that we knew, who started drinking with us, which was hilarious. So I polished off the two Jagerbombs and noticed there was still one left, so I did that too. I’m fairly sure everyone at the bar cheered for me at this point because I remember making a big deal out of the fact that I was going to chug some Jagerbombs and then I remember cheering. Then I remember Elisha buying me a Holy Water type shot. Then I remember…Jon leading me into Cam’s car to go home.
Cam says I passed out in the car and slept the entire way to his house, drank some water when I got there and was KO’d. But this wasn’t before I told him I had finished the night with a count of 32 ounces of booze. I’m actually not proud of that, I think it might be somewhat dangerous to consume that much alcohol for a person of my size.
I woke up the next morning, for the first time in my life, actually genuinely confused about where I was. I asked out loud “HOW DID I GET HERE?” and then realized everything was ok. I made a good life choice, calling Cam for a ride home, otherwise who knows where the road would have taken me. I had some pretty random texts in my cell from the night before, all indicating potential bad life choices I could have made. I worked at 11:30 the next day, and Cam started at 11 so he drove me home before his shift and I actually didn’t feel that bad at that point, because I was obviously still drunk.
I rolled into work at 11:30, STILL drunk and feeling displaced and incoherent as to what was going on around me. I managed to be okay until about 2 when I started feeling like absolute shit. This was a new phenomenon for me, I mean, I’d been hungover at work before, but never to the extent that I was that day. Dizzy, sweaty, I genuinely felt like I was going to die. And then it happened for the first time in my life…I barfed at work.
But it wasn’t just a little bit, it was like full on projectile vomiting. It SUCKED. I felt a bit better after round 1 and went back to work, but I knew it wasn’t over. Round 2 was even worse, mostly because there was nothing left in my stomach so a lot of horrible dry heaving ensued. I begged to go home, but my evil managers spawned from the clutches of Satan and felt that I should pay for my sins the night before and made me stay. I tried to tell them it was a cleanse, but no one was buying it and every time I ran to the back to puke, I could see them (no names mentioned) getting more and more pissed off. In retrospect, it’s funny, but that day I wanted a meteor to descend upon earth and crush Wendy’s more than anything. Just so I could die, or go home if I made it through the natural disaster. It was the longest shift of my life. I finally stopped puking around 5, and worked the last 2 hours feeling tired, shitty, angry, bitter, and resenting my decision to find out how much I can drink.
Every other hangover I experienced during the summer paled in comparison to that one. Worst day after drinking ever. And I’m not sure I can qualify the statement that I can drink 32 ounces of alcohol since I barfed so profusely the next day. However, in my defense, if I hadn’t had to work, and just slept it off, I think I would have been alright.