We are celebrating Rohit’s birthday. Other than Rohit and Meera I really don’t know anyone and sit down at the bar. Normally wine is my drink of choice, but tonight I decide on a “big girl drink” and order a lemon drop martini.
Around midnight, we loudly sing "Happy Birthday Rohit". By this point I am four planets away from sobriety and entering the solar system of wasted at warp speed. I am no lightweight, but, shoot, these are the STRONGEST martinis known to man. And I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that the room has started to spin, but I give my phone number to some desi guy, who is Rohit’s friend’s friend. He lacks all ability to flirt, but the attention is nice.
When my stomach starts to hurt, I slide off the bar stool. Immediately the room goes really dark. My heart races and beads of sweat run down my back. I’m overheating like a faulty radiator in the desert sun. Despite the drunken blindness that rinses over me I remember to grab my purse and run out of the bar. With cool air against my cheeks, I wobble down the street, turn the corner and hurl my guts out.
At some point, as I am heaving, I realize I am crying from regret. I should have become a banker. I should have lost ten pounds. I should have moved to New York years ago. I should have eaten dinner because the only acceptable reason to be vomiting in a Manhattan back alley at my age is influenza or turista. Then I have a completely lucid moment and whisper to myself, “Do you think boys cry when they puke? Stop being a such a girl and get it together.”
After my system is free of bile and vodka, I lean against the brick building and catch my breath. My head has stopped spinning so that’s a good sign. When my eyes come into focus I see a homeless man with a smudgy face staring at me. He is three feet away and I wonder if he heard my pep talk. I smile but he scowls, points at the puke and says, “Gross!”
Well isn’t this just dandy? I have managed to disgust a man who doesn’t bathe regularly and lives on the streets of New York. Aiy!
Upbeat desi woman outsources herself from Minnesota to Manhattan in search of love, and finds something more...
12 comments:
didnt you once puck in front of the minneapolis post office!
Sheetal, you are SO funny ~ I love how you express. "Stop being such a girl and get it together". I'm still laughing :)
@ The Brother ... yes I did, Minnesotans are so polite that they didn't bother me or stop me from doing so in front of a public building. But that was because of what we had for lunch ... tacos, remember? Not martinis ...
@ Peg ... when I fall from grace do I make a SERIOUS crash and burn mess or what?! :)
Easy martini rule:
One is not enough and two is too many.
I remember one time I had two martinis and I started talking to the peanuts. I found myself on my friends couch with a dog licking my face in the morning.Yeah I agree two is too much
So what happened with the flirty non flirty friend of a friends friend? Did you take him home and show him what Drunken Bang really means?
No need to thank me.
- ODDB
@ Paul ... so what I need is a 1.5 serving Bad Desi Tini :)
@ Raji ... talking to Peanuts? that is really drunk!
@ ODDB ... well who says Non-Flirty Got No Game doesn't make a come back :)
Too funny. I, too, was reading quickly, waiting for "friend of friend" to walk up and say, "Do you want to go to my place and sleep it off." Or whatever line desis use to get drunk girls who puke in alleys into their beds... The title "Drunken Bang" was a bit of a come on...
Dear Starlight ... OMG. That is hilarious. Like I said, I am going to share, in equal measure, my highlights and lowlights!
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