Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Vom Stories

Everyone has one.  A gloriously embarrassing story that involves vomit.  Perhaps in projectile form.  Perhaps chunky.  Perhaps multi-color fun.  Perhaps all of these in one big mess.  But it is my hypothesis that everyone has at least one vomit story.  Not, “I was sick with the flu once and vommed in my bathroom toilet.”  Oh no, we’re talking- other people present, preferably in public, perhaps with puke landing on someone else.  Other than your mother.  And it may or may not involve alcohol the previous evening.  But without fail, every time I have heard someone tell a story about “the time they vomited” it is immediately followed by half a dozen other people all clamoring to tell their MORE embarrassing/inopportune/shameful story.  It’s great.  This happened on our way home from Portland this past weekend, thus inspiring my blog. 

I suppose my personal favorite vom story would be from Munich.   Yes, Germany. If only because I can say that the first time I ever threw up because of alcohol was in a hostel in Munich.  Wombats to be exact- best hostel ever.  Not in a fraternity, not anytime in college, not at any one of the absurdly alcohol infused Penn Singers parties.  No, it took post-college backpacking Europe to bring me to the world of vom.  Not that I am proud that I drank enough alcohol to throw up, but hey, if you’re going to do it, it might as well be 3.5 litres of German beer at the Munchen Hofbrauhaus consumed over several hours with three Candians and your best friend.  Though as I look back I don’t think it was the beer so much as the beer PLUS the shot of jager afterward… Minor details.  In any event, we had two days in Munich and on our first full one I was up at 7am bright eyed and pukey-tailed.  Let me tell you what, I can still picture the toilet and the tile in that hostel bathroom.  It is also amazing how resilient the body is when you don’t wallow in the pukedom.  Typically when you’re sick or hungover you just want to take the day to do nothing.  Puke it out.  Watch some VH1.  Sleep.  But that becomes problematic when you have 48 hours to see an entire city and you don’t want to waste it in a bunk bed.  So what do you do?  Suck it up.  And go learn about Nazi Germany while drinking water and eating soft pretzels. 

I can’t say that my story is particularly noteworthy, especially compared to some I have heard from friends of late, but it’s just encouragement to find bigger and better vom stories out there.  While my friend Rob had cancer, he once told a story about vomming in his mom’s car while he was going through chemotherapy and encouraged others to share their vom stories on his website.  And wow, there were some truly special ones.  I am hoping people will do the same here.  Share your best vom story for the whole world to read.  Get it out in the open, perhaps unburden yourself from that secret time you got  pukealicious on the subway home from that rockin party or when you were so violently ill you just projectiled all over your workplace.  I know there must be some good ones out there.  Do tell.

1 comment:

Joshua said...

This isn't a vom story where I executed the regurgitation of vile. However, it does involve me and my attempt at getting a few numbers...

Every Thursday night in college, a bunch of my friends would band together and venture to the local gay hot spot in Allentown. By hot, I really mean lukewarm and quite sleazy.

I was all decked out in my slightly tight distressed jeans and a brand new white tuxedo button up shirt, with a green belt to give the ensemble some color.

I was assessing the crowd, trying to pick out the good grapes from the hordes of bad raisins. I leaned with my back facing the bartender and my left elbow on top the bar so I could get a good view of everything. I hear some noises coming from beside me. I turn my head and see a lipstick lesbian, being held up by her butch motorcycle riding girlfriend, as she spews her puke down the bar onto my elbow.

I quickly make a few snide remarks about her to my friends and then go directly to the bathroom to wash my sleeve.

As I'm in my bathroom I see a desperate looking queen run to one of the urinals next to me. Ok, number 1 rule in puking is never try to cover you mouth with your hands. Regardless, it's coming out, and it's a much cleaner shot if you do not obstruct the path of puke. He, however, does the complete opposite. I immediately cringe as he pukes all over his hands. It goes everywhere, including a stream of vile that was shot out between his two fingers all over my "get me a few numbers" jeans.

I now have the pleasure of washing out some cranberry vodka and cottage cheese off my arm, and bud lite and hot dogs off my pants!