New Year's, 2004, I go with some friends to a posh little soiree with a bunch of older, classier people. Way too much champagne, way too much caviar, way too much everything. On the ride home, riding in the back seat of my own car, I projectile vomit on the back of the passenger seat, on the floor of the car, and all over the inside of the door. I spend the next twenty minutes or so sitting in silence, until I start going slightly insane, and making devil faces while chewing on my own vomit (although nobody claims to have noticed this). I arrive home with my roommates and my best friend's sister, and immediately charge out of the car. I demand my keys, but get denied, so I charge off in the opposite direction from our condo. Between me and a muddy field is what would eventually become somebody's basement, in the middle of which is a concrete block wall. I pull some ridiculous high wire act across this thing and emerge on the other side alive and intact. Upon reaching the other side, I sink my foot into about eight inches of soft mud, losing my shoe, yet remain undeterred and continue. I lose the other shoe, and after about six or seven more stomps end up on my knees, pounding the mud with my fists. Finally, I'm coaxed back towards the door, and I say something like, "Draw me a hot bath." I track mud all over the living room carpet before taking off my socks. I fall asleep in the tub, and wake up naked next to my clothes (now washed), a towel, a cup of water and a bottle of Aspirin. No contest, the whole episode, most embarrassed I've ever been.
