Tuesday, January 09, 2007

New Year's Eve in Chicago - The End of 2006

Max at least provided some amusement by putting a gigantic hole in the wall of the Marriott Hotel stairwell after attempting to save Emily’s friend, Jen, from taking a disastrous spill herself. Jen, the girl we stayed with during the weekend, had quite the New Year’s Eve. She got a bit too drunk and then had the genius idea to smoke hash, leaving her in a bad state puking all over Emily’s friend, Calvin’s room at the Marriott. Jen had no qualms about pulling the trigger several times in attempting to aid her puking process, and she did it with a relative ease and familiarity that sent off warning signals in the head of her friend and fellow cast-mate in the off-off-broadway show, Spellingbee. This friend, Christine, who happened to be high on hash herself, proceeded to freak out in believing that Jen was bulimic. The conversation went something as follows:
“Oh my god, Jen, you’re fucking bulimic. I can’t believe it. You’re fucking bulimic.” Christine screamed as tears soon began to follow. She was high, mad, sad, coupled with some other indiscernible emotions rolled into one ball of weirdness.
Emily chimed in while sitting on the bed watching the fiasco unfold. “She’s not bulimic, she’s just drunk. You need to chill out.”
Un-phased, Christine continued with tears streaming down her phase. “Jen, how can you do this to yourself? You’re fucking bulimic. I’m calling Kristin and telling her. This is a serious problem.”
Jen, not exactly functioning in top form, wags her finger at Christina. “It’ll be our secret.” She slurs. She obviously has no idea what’s going on.
“Christine, are you insane?” Emily asks. “She’s not bulimic. I’ve seen millions of girls do this before. Obviously you never went to college.”
It’s too late, though, as Christine has already begun leaving a message on Kristin’s voicemail with a firm resound that Jen is bulimic and this must be remembered in the morning after everyone sobers up.
We all split soon afterwards. Christine refused to leave with us and abandoned Jen to our devices in getting home. Getting back to Jen’s took forever being that it was New Year’s Eve and impossible to hail a taxi, so we were forced to take the “L” with Jen iron-clasped to Max’s arm and puking every step of the way. Happy New Year.
Oh, on an end note, there was this adorable little black pug named “Olive” that belonged to one of Jen’s roommates and constantly insisted on wedging itself between Emily and I while sleeping together at night on the world’s most narrow couch. Olive was adorable, but she smelled kind of bad and snored. Emily hasn’t stopped talking about wanting to get a French Bulldog for the last two days.

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