The Apocalypse

Trouble’s ridiculous story #1:

            Last Friday I had a night like none other before. After 20+ trips to Vegas with my girlfriends I’ve had many a drunken nights, but this one definitely topped the charts. Here’s what happen…

4:30pm: I’m waiting for my friend Amy to fly in from Seattle. She’s an old roommate who’s coming to stay the weekend with me. Where better to wait than at a bar? It’s Friday, happy hour time, and my friend Jane wants to meet for a drink. Let me preface the rest of the events by mentioning that Jane has a tendency to get a little out of control with her drinking. But it’s early and the bar is dead so how much trouble could we really get into?

4:35pm: Two Kettle sodas, one for me and the other for Jane.

4:42pm: Jane orders a second Kettle soda for herself.

4:45pm: We watch a couple at the bar shoot back shots of Jameson. Being big whiskey fans ourselves, Jane immediately looks at me, then calls the bartender over to pour us a couple shots as well.

4:52pm: Text from Amy comes through, “I just landed! Headed over to your place now :) “

My reply, “Yay! At a bar. Come meet me here and we’ll cab back to my place together”

4:53pm: Bartender, “Another?”

Jane, “YES!” Jane also orders herself a third Kettle soda for herself.

4:55pm: Text from Amy, “Can you come home and meet me first?”

Reply, “Boo! It’s happy hour. Let’s have some drinks. Get over here!”

Amy, “No fair you started without me! Well maybe I’ll go meet up with my friend Lynn then and catch up with you later…”

4:57pm: Me, “Well Amy’s not coming so we might as well keep drinking. Let’s go somewhere else and get some good whiskey”

Jane, “Ok but first one more drink here.”

Me, “Not for me.”

Jane takes her third shot of Jameson, and then leaves to the restroom.

5:02pm: Jane returns and orders both of us another shot. I don’t put up a fight this time. We’re leaving anyway.

(Just to recap here’s the current count: Jane = 3 Kettle Sodas, 4 Jameson shots. Me = one Kettle soda, 3 Jameson shots. FYI: I get buzzed after a half glass of wine…)

5:15pm: We arrive at the new bar. It’s dead. There’s only me, Jane, and Gentlemen Jack…

This is where things start to get fuzzy and I have to rely on time stamped text messages to figure out what happens from here on…

We must have had 2-3 shots of whiskey and next thing I know we’re sitting at a Thai place with Amy and her friend Lynn. The only thing I remember about dinner is that I went to the bathroom and blew chunks. Luckily, Amy was sober enough to fill me in the following day. So according to her…

~6:30pm: I’m pretty sure we walked to the restaurant but I have absolutely no recognition of getting there. I’ve only been there about a thousand times with Amy, but on this particular occasion I can’t find it and have to call for directions.

~7:15pm: The four of us ate dinner, drank wine, and I cracked a bunch of jokes while Jane stroked the side of Lynn’s face endearingly.

8:40pm: I don’t remember leaving dinner or parting from Amy but I’m assuming Jane and I are walking back to my apartment when I somehow managed to check in with Jane’s live-in boyfriend…

Me, “Jane is gonnana spend the night here  xoxo”

BF, “she ok?”

Me, “Yup!”

BF, “ok r u guys out still?”

Me, “Yup”

~9:00pm: Jane and I are headed up the stairs to my apartment when she grabs my foot out from under me and I fall head over heels down an entire flight of stairs. Nothing jogs your memory more than getting punched in the face by a flight of stairs. I hit my face so hard I start crying in pain. Jane is laughing hysterically and I tell her it’s not funny. At this point I remember thinking, this is gonna be my first trip in an ambulance and definitely my first fracture(s).

I have no idea how long we lay on the stairs but at some point we walk into my apt. For all I know, a neighbor came out and carried us to my front door.

9:32pm: I text Jane’s bf again, “I just got in my bed. No fuckin clue”

~9:45pm: My roommate comes into my room and says my friend is passed out in the bathroom and that I should check on her. I get up to check on her and there she is sitting on the floor, soaking wet. The entire bathroom is flooded with poopy toilet water. And Jane is passed out against the wall sitting down in sewage.

I tell Jane to get up and then go back into my room to lie down. My lip is busted open, my nose is bleeding and my whole face is throbbing. I think I may have also dislocated my shoulder in the fall.

~10:00pm: Jane runs in my room stark naked, jumps on top of me as I’m lying in bed and tries to feel me up. I push her off to the side and tell her this isn’t a Black Swan lesbian make-out scene. My roommate starts yelling at me that the bathroom is flooded and she needs to pee. I yell back and tell her to pee in the shower.

When I get up to survey the damage, I see a trail of soaking wet clothes going from the bathroom to my bedroom door. “Fuck! You gotta be kidding me!” I exclaim.

~10:15pm: My roommate is going off about how unsanitary this is and I tell her I’m doing the best I can to clean in up. After two bath towels, a rug, and two rolls of paper towels I put everything in a trash bag and start Lysol-ing everything in sight.

~10:45pm: I come back into my room, see Jane passed out naked on my bed and decide I better sleep on my chaise.

5:00am (the following day): I hear Jane get up. It’s still pitch black but I can vaguely see her standing there naked, shivering, and trying to cover up her lady parts.

Jane, “I’m naked! Where are my clothes? I have to go to work!”

Me, “You don’t remember streaking after you flooded the bathroom? Go back to sleep, I already set an alarm for you.”

Jane, “No, I need to go home. And I’m pretty sure I peed your bed.” She puts her hand against the mattress, “Yep, I definitely peed.”

I give Jane dry clothes to wear home, we search for her shoes, and I hand her a trash bag containing her toilet water soaked outfit from the night before.

5:15am: As she’s leaving I say to her, “We’re too old for this shit. Seriously…what’s wrong with us?”

Jane, “I know. We’re OLD!”

Jane leaves and I start surveying the damage to make sure I cleaned everything sufficiently as to not piss off my roommates even more.

5:20am: I go into the bathroom, turn on the light and I don’t even need my glasses to see that there is a HUGE shit stain on the back edge of the toilet (off the seat!) and brown streaks on the wall. “Oh this just keeps getting better! FML.” By this point, the shit has already hardened so I have to scrub it off with Lysol wipes, my nails, and elbow grease. What the fuck was she doing in here?!?! I’m a damn good friend, and a germ-a-phob so I wash my hands until they are raw.

5:45am: I look in the mirror and see blood all over my swollen top lip. My nose is full of dried blood and my eyes are black. I notice various bruises all over my arms and legs. Let’s hope I didn’t actually dislocate my shoulder too.

5:50am: I text Amy, “I’m so sorry! I have NO IDEA what happened. Call me when you wake up. I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

6:00am: I take my mattress pad and sheets down to the trash, there is no salvaging them after seeing the dark yellow streaks. Even my pillows and down comforter are damp, WTF??? I wrap everything up in garbage bags and light a candle. I can’t smell anything but I’m sure it wreaks. Then I put an ice pack on my busted face and lay back down on my urine-free chaise.

7:00am: I still can’t fall back asleep. I feel awful about Amy, especially since she asked me over a month ago if she could stay at my place. And having never blacked out before, I’m completely frightened about not being able to remember large parts of the night. Were we roofied? What the hell happened?

10:00am: I still haven’t heard from Amy so I decide to go to Bed, Bath & Beyond to get new bedding and a new rug for the bathroom. On my way down the stairs I see two dark brown stripes down the wall that are roughly shoulder height. My first thought is, “Well that’s rude! It must be the downstairs neighbor’s bike.” Then I have a flashback of my fall down the stairs and wonder if it could have been me. Upon later inspection, I notice yellow paint on the heels of my brown leather boots. I also notice dried puke stains down the front of my right boot. Classy.

The following Monday 7:30pm: I had asked Jane to meet me for dinner to discuss the events from Friday. She doesn’t remember anything. And she definitely doesn’t remember wiping shit on the wall of my bathroom and pulling me down the stairs. I told her about my injuries and the soiled bedding. She hands me a check for the damages and insists I take it. I’m broke, so I agree.

During dinner I tell her that I no longer feel comfortable drinking with her unsupervised and that under no circumstances will I ever have more than 3 drinks while I’m with her. I also suggest that it would probably be a good idea to have a code word that we can use if we feel things are getting out of control, and if someone says the code word we immediately go home – no questions asked. I ask her what an appropriate word would be, she says, “How about ‘apocalypse’?”