Thursday, February 19, 2009

bonjour massive crippling hangover

I'd like to preface this by saying that I am what I call a lightswitch drunk. One second I'll be fine, debating with you the need to reform the current welfare system, and the next I'm laying on the floor mumbling incoherently about unicorns. And with that, Montreal...

Let's start from the beginning. We decide that after a six hour car ride, some beer is definitely in order. We find a pub near the hotel and we demolish some poutine and the biggest pitcher of Labatt Blue (sort of like Canada's Budweiser) that I've ever seen. I'm tired and desperately want a nap but after a couple of beers I declare to myself that napping on vacation is for sissies and I must continue on. This brings us to the London Pub, where we play several games of Kings with pitchers of Sangria (strike 1). Next stop is the liquor store where I purchase a bottle of champagne because there's nothing I love more than celebrating myself. Back at the hotel I toast myself by downing about half a bottle of champagne followed by about an equal amount of wine (strike 2).

We head out to the bar/club/whatever, I think the name had "vert" in it? Oh, it doesn't actually matter. My last memory is sipping on a vodka and cranberry, minding my own business at the bar. I'm told that it could not have been later than midnight at this point. My next memory? Sunday morning when my friends come to check on me to make sure that I haven't died in the middle of the night. Once they ascertain that I'm breathing, I'm told about epic events the night before.

So, apparently after the infamous vodka and cranberry, I spill several drinks (strike 3), fall up the stairs to the dance floor (strike 4), and use Mere as a leaning post while on said dance floor (strike 5). My friends make the decision that I need to go home. Sober Jessie would have been fine with this. However, the Angry Gnome, my drunk counterpart, was not as amenable. Prior to getting into a cab, I decide grip onto a metal pole and scream like a hyena as my friends try to get me inside (strike 6). Upon arriving at the hotel, I fall out of the cab and tell all of my friends that I hate them (strike 7). When Lori calls me a whore, the two French Canadians standing outside are horrified. Somewhere between the lobby to the 25th floor, I fall and decide just to lay there (strike 8), declaring my hatred for everyone.

At this point my friends probably wish that they had left me at the bar and are tempted to leave me there yelling "NOW I REALLY HATE ALL OF YOU". However, out of the goodness of their hearts, they continue their attempts to get my sloppy self into the hotel room. Once I'm there, I am obviously still telling them that I hate them. I then decide to throw pillows at everyone in order to guard myself. Once I run out of pillows, I throw my shoe at my friend Sara (strike 9). She is not amused and she comes over to kick me in the ass and yell "That is NOT cool". Even the Angry Gnome can admit that this kick is deserved. *

So what did I learn from that fateful night out in Montreal? I have the most amazing friends who must love me very much when I'm sober because they sure as hell hated me that night when I ws drunk.

*I do not remember this. These facts were gathered from my friends who somehow miraculously still love me.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

haha, this is absolutely hilarious.