hi-fi gods try so hard to make their cars low to the ground
Honestly, I was doing fine the whole night, until suddenly I remembered hoping that the guys weren't noticing how bad I felt, and that's probably indicative of how attentive they were to me.
I'm a bit embarrassed, too, because I don't even think it was that late.
Yesterday was a good day. I didn't get up and hit the ground running like I'd hoped to, but I was still showered, fed, and read before going to class.
My Tuesday block runs from one till five thirty, and the first two classes are all linguistics people. Phonology is a challenging course, and Syntax is not.
The latter class is taught by a Japanese prof who was giving sentence examples of an English grammar rule which has exceptions that are only apparent to native-speakers.
He was demonstrating our sub-conscious knowledge of our language.
Well, he is a non-native English speaker, and his example didn't demonstrate what he intended. When he said, "now, why doesn't this pronoun work in sentence #2?"
I raised my hand and replied, "Becuase sentence number two doesn't have a third-person relationship with the pronoun."
A classmate, Joshua, who has all three of the same Tuesday classes with me, vouched for my rightness, until we both decided to tell the prof he was right and proceed.
John never expected that Bill would blame him. is the sentence, and there is a very good reason why the "him" can only apply to John, but Dr. I-Teacher-You-Not insisted the exception was arbitrary.
Whatever. So that lost a bit of credibility for me. But the class is purely fundamentals so I will make it. After my last class I was hoping to walk out alongside this guy who's in my Tuesday class as well, who had smiled at me. Instead I was met by the same guy from before who had eaten with me three days ago.
The one with the fannypack.
We exchanged hello's and the like, and then he got silent, which bothered me, because it preceeded the following, "so, what are you doing tonight?"
Poor guy. He's so extremely stereotypically un-cool and I feel awful for even thinking that, and I suppose I'm flattered that he'd even consider me approachable, but there's just no way I could ever have dinner with him.
When I got home I cleaned house and called the twins to make sure they received their package. I actually just wanted to talk to their nanny about the pictures I still have on their computer, but since my former boss answered the phone I decided to just talk to the kids.
There was a letter there in the package for the parents, and I just felt very uncomfortable being on the phone with them before they had read it, because they really should have had the letter a week ago.
So I was sent my new debit card, right, but no pin number. I saw myself going out on the town with only ten dollars, and I decided to have a couple drinks here at home. I do admit that it's nice to know ten dollars will get me around, though, unlike NY where it costs $10 just to leave your apartment.
So Jason comes to pick me up, and I've had one beer and two small vodka drinks. I specify small because my glasses are tiny and cute: not full-sized. He has a drink and we chat until we decide to arrive at the karoake bar, where Jay and George are already waiting.
For some reason unknown to us the place is jam packed so we revert to The Upstairs Bar for pool. Jay and I were both very dissapointed that there would be no singing.
I bought a pitcher of beer for less than five dollars and that's what I drank. Despite the fact that I am terrible pool shooter, I actually played well last night. After one game where I appeared especially proficient Jason - my double-partner - gave me a hug. Yay! finally I got a little hug, right?
I recall the droning noise of all the students in every direction, and the pool table seeming like my personal territory as I sang along with the GnR and drank four glasses of beer.
This was certainly enough for me to be drunk, but not what I would imagine would ruin me.
We proceeded to the Vid, where I sat on the floor and received non-stop attention from the guys until finally one of them got his car and they took me home.
At one point I felt myself start to get sick (that was the part I "hoped no one noticed" but I'm sure they did if they were at all sober), and though I didn't puke I just gagged myself and began coughing like mad. I could not control the coughing.
I remember Jason standing beside me and scratching my head and thinking it felt so nice to have a tender, friendly head-scratch.
The guys were extremely helpful. I don't know if I've ever been so taken care of. Surely I have been.
Anyway, I do feel bad for getting so drunk that I lost my composure.
When I got home I stripped down, let myself puke, and passed out.
All day today I have not been able to move. I've been ill, sweaty, tired, smelly, oh, and coughing, too.
I feel like I must have collapsed one of my lungs last night, truly, because my chest aches from so much coughing.
Perhaps I aspirated something and actually had a near death experience.
So my Friday was shot.
I hate it when this happens, and I can't explain why,either. It makes no sense. Some nights alcohol really rips my guts out, and other nights I hardly feel a thing. Last night's beer should not have torn me up like it did.
I just hope they didn't think I looked as completely foolish as I felt. Hopefully they'll remember that round of pool where I cleaned the table. It really was just the last fifteen minutes or so - after we walked a little ways - that I felt like dying.
I just crashed.
Ugh.
Good job Michaela, way to make it to gradschool.
So this weekend I will study, and just forgo any invitations for whathaveyou.
