Champagne, SoCo, Vomit, and Blood

It started out innocent enough. We acquired a bottle of champagne from my office that had been sent to celebrate our company reaching $200 million in sales for the year. My manager was in Los Angeles at the time and said that Dayna and I were welcome to take the champagne home and enjoy it ourselves.

That we did. But we held off until Saturday night. Dayna was eager to pop it open and when I sat down she poured me a flute. It didn't take long for us to strap on a happy, bubbly buzz; nor for us to reach the bottom of the bottle.

My buzz was so cheerfully wonderful and I hadn't had one like it in quite a while so I wasn't going to let it get away from me. There was a tempting bottle of Southern Comfort in the refrigerator from the night before (not mine, long story), which I was happy to employ. Dayna told me that I really didn't need any of that and that I shouldn't drink it; I wouldn't hear of it.

Sip......sip.......sip......sip.......sip......sip...... I lost count of them.....sip.......

A walk from the living room to the kitchen was like a rollercoaster (so fun). Then to the bathroom, then to the bedroom, and back to the kitchen. I was so drunk that I didn't know what I was doing.

Finally Dayna and I made it to the bedroom to try and have a little magic, but we didn't make it far. It wasn't long before I was laying on my stomach mumbling incoherent complaints about how the Southern Comfort was making my stomach so un-comfortable. It sounded something like this:

I.....no......my stom....I......nee.....my stom.....trash.......no.....ughh....ughh....

Luckily Dayna speaks drunk because she was already bringing the trash can to the side of the bed. As soon as she sat it down I was obliged to discharge, and boy did I discharge.

I did that at least a half-dozen times throughout the rest of the night and into the morning. So many times that twice my nose started bleeding. It was sooooo horrible. At about 10:00am on Sunday morning I got called in to my office for an emergency order. Oh, it was hell. I couldn't believe that it was happening. I felt like a piece of ruined meat.

After we took care of the order we came home and I spend much of the rest of the day in bed trying to sleep it off. It wasn't until about 4:30 Sunday afternoon that I was feeling stable enough to get out of bed and eat something.

I can live the rest of my life perfectly happy and never taste Southern Comfort again.