Best & Worst
I have two short stories to tell.. First time poster, be gentle!

One concerns the time I consider my 'best,' memory of vomiting and the other my 'worst.'

My worst experience began, as I'm sure these vomit stories so often do, with a party. Not just any party - a 17th birthday party with an open bar. It was in a shitty pub in one of the Medway towns - Gillingham perhaps - and was upstairs in a function room which had seen better days. I can't recall whose birthday party it even was, I can just recall that a bunch of my mates from school were there including a bloke called Jon. Jon was a nice bloke but had been bullied about his weight at school and had a number of family issues including an alcoholic father. Jon turned out to be an alcoholic himself and so suffice to say he could knock plenty of booze back and the rest of us would not be able to keep up. For some reason I ended up at the bar with him and we started matching drinks.

At the time, for some reason, Aftershock was all the rage. I'm sure you are all aware of these foul concoctions which at the time were 40% and came in three varieties - blue, red and black. We started punishing these pretty heavily interspacing our conversation with typical teenage angst and discussing who we would like to fuck and then confessing undying love for half the people we knew who wore skirts.

Another mate's Grandad had kindly offered to pick us up from this party to take us home and the time soon came around where we had to stop propping up the bar and make our way back to the barn. I was feeling pretty fucking drunk but at this point was still relatively aware of my faculties.

On the way back I was starting to feel a little worse for wear. For some reason, the motion of a car journey does not seem to agree with me when I am terribly drunk - it wasn't that the Grandad was driving badly, it was just that any motion left or right felt like being in a bathtub rolling in the pacific ocean. I was in the back on the drivers side and started looking out the window, trying to concentrate on something else to make me forget my current predicament. Predictably, suddenly, and without warning, I felt the bile rise in my throat. There was no time to shout a warning or ask the Grandad to pull over - projectile vomit was imminent and I just managed to get the electric window down in time to stick my head out. The next 5 seconds is played back in slow motion in my mind: The sudden relief of all the alcohol and party nibbles flowing out of me; the burning on the back of my throat; watching the vomit in a nice, neat stream flow out of my mouth; the momentof horror when it stopped flowing away from me and did a U-turn.

The vomit went all over my face, up my nose, back into my mouth. It went all over my arm which was dangling out the window. It went all over me t-shirt and over the inside of the car.

The car suddenly swerved off of the dual carriageway onto the hard shoulder. Whilst I was dribbling down my front I remembered that this mate's Grandad was particularly proud of his car and temper prone. I feared the worst. As the car stopped his door opened and I expected to be hauled out in order to finish blowing chunks on the side of the road. Instead he got out, put his hands on his knees and bent over, tears streaming down his face and literally pissing himself with laughter.

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My worst experience was bad for me, because I got coated in my own vomit. My Best experience isn't particularly good for me either, but when I reflect on it now it makes me laugh every time.

Again I was at a party, again I was probably about 17 but this time it was a house party.

My recollection of the night is fairly hazy these days, but I do remember it being at the house of a guy called Chris.

It was one of those typical teenage affairs - parents away for the weekend, cue invite everyone around and to keep drinking until everyone has ended up sleeping in random positions, with random people, throughout the house. I can't remember what I was drinking but I do know it was fairly early in the evening when I started feeling rotten. I needed to chill out for a bit and, for some reason; there was a double mattress on the floor in the dining room which was open planned to the sitting room. I went and crashed on the mattress next to another guy called Jimmy who was obviously in a bad way as well. I lay on the mattress, holding on, trying to stop the room spinning but if anything lying down was making me feel worse.

I had the sudden realisation that I was going to hurl and calculated that the best route outside would be through the dining room, out the living room, into the hallway and out the front door (which was open). I got up and started to stumble towards the door as quickly as I could. Whilst going through the living room I passed a girl called Sabrina who was kneeling on the floor next to the stereo going through the CD collection. Sabrina was one of those happy drunks who wants to make peace with the world, be friendly to everyone and give you a hug even if she hated you when sober. As I ambled past she called out,

"Hiiii aeloen!"

Being the polite gentleman that I am I decided to return the greeting,

"Bleeeeeeeeeurrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhh!"

I didn't even get one syllable out - I projectile vomited all over her top (Green Day I think it was), all over her CD collection and left a fair spattering over the Stereo and the floor. I didn't stop to apologise and managed to stumble out of the front door and pass out.
(aeloen, Wed 13 Jan 2010, 7:10, 1 reply)

I personally don't mind Green Day....

(satanstolemyteddybear Mu hõljuk on angerjaid täis, Wed 13 Jan 2010, 14:30, closed)