Thursday, 8 November 2007

It All Comes Flooding Back

After a day at work and an evening spent doing a little washing and defragging the ailing and geriatric computer, I spent half an hour on the phone to my long distance lover, partner and all round top woman. I was expecting my 16 year old daughter to come back home any minute. She's been up the road gabbling with her goopy mates all evening. I thought maybe I could escape to my room as soon as she did, having said hello and goodnight. There's nothing quite like a relaxing read in the comfort of ones own bed. Or maybe I could listen to one of my bird call cds and pretend I'm on a farm in late spring surrounded by wildlife abounding.
As it is, these options were not to be open to me this evening.

My daughter is not a delicate girlie girl. She's a good kid, but can be a tad brusque and bullish at times.

She had asked if a mate could stay over tonight as well. Considering I was supposed to be having a quiet night in totally alone, this was not first choice but hey, what can you do?

So, just as I'm finishing the aforementioned phone call, in crash Daughter and Friend, another 16 year old, who I've met before.

Only this time she's rather drunk. Actually, she's totally pissed, but being a polite girl, waves absentmindedly from the sofa when I say hi.

I prepare for my retreat to the inner sanctum upstairs, but just as I'm issuing instructions for the teens part in the peaceful remainder of the evening, Friend, who has gone awfully quiet, lurches forward. And with a mighty heave, regurgitates a pot noodle and half a pint of snakebite onto my living room carpet, her lap, and the corner of the sofa.

Oh what joy!!!

A vomiting teenager. To cut a not very long story short enough to allow me some sleep tonight, I and Daughter, who is not drunk at all, spent the next hour holding this poor girl's head over a bucket whilst she did that heartrending uuuuerchhhhaaah! noise over and over again.

We've all been there, (well, most of us anyway) I suppose. I have a history which involves doses of alcohol as an emetic. At her age, I was a past master at the old Technicolour Yawn, and I wasn't always in control enough to be too fussy about where it landed. Let's face it, discretion is not top priority when you've got to call God on the Great Porcelain Phone and you just don't have the strength or coordination to get to it.

Her mum came to pick her up. It took a while to get her moving but I'm confident that she'll be ok.

And so I'm winding down in front of the revved up P.C.

Soon I'm off to bed. Far too soon after that I'm up and off to work. Soon after that, Daughter will continue the sterling efforts we have both made to render the living room odour free. Of course, that wont be possible but we have to try at least.

Goodnight everybody, and please comment with your best/worst teenage overdrinking til vomit stories.

20 comments:

lorenzothellama said...

I don't understand why teenagers consider they haven't had a good night out if they don't throw up.

Boiling a pan of potatoes until dry, burnt and stuck to the bottom of the saucepan indefinitely is a guaranteed way of removing the smell of vomit. Or alternatively grilling kippers or mackerel.

I always get muddled up between emetics and enemas.

Lorenzo.

Today's word is: sennacot

Magdalene said...

I so do not want to come to your house tonight...

My daughter was worse though, she managed to technicolour yawn red wine over my wall, ruin a beach party I was due to attend and alienate several of the good Devonshire constabulary. It's all payback for our own hideous teenage mishaps which were even nastier.

Get a new carpet or else.

Scriptor Senex said...

Daren't tell you the bother my teenager got into when drunk so will settle for my 21st birthdsay party - one of them... Had a friend staying in my very small bedsit with me overnight. He was on the floor. I got up to find the porcelain in a hurry and forgetting he was there kicked him on the head. Turned to apologise and the rest is history... Imagine waking in a strange place by being kicked on the head and vomited over - and he still stayed my friend.

Raelha said...

I behvaed myself mostly as a teenager - it wasn't until I escaped to uni that I started to over indulge.

There's one night in particular I don't remember. I awoke about dawn to find myself sitting on the loo in our halls of residence flat with a banging head, wearing nothing but a very short t-shirt and no memory of the night before or how I'd got there. After sneaking out into the corridor I then discovered that my room was locked. Not a good position to find yourself in. Thankfully a flatmate had left his coat in the kitchen so I tied that around my waist and sat at the kitchen table sipping water for a couple of hours until the rest of the flat appeared for breakfast, gave me the details of the night before (too embarassing to repeat in detail, but it involved confusing the flat above us for ours and puking in their corridor) and found my clothes and key to my room. I spent the rest of the day hiding in my bed in shame.

Thesaurus Rex said...

Excellent, I knew this would bring out some funny stories. Come on Lorro, you know you want to.
And Martin, where are the N Dev posse when I need them? JLS, I can't believe you've never been in or around a position of insobriety.
(my word verification is jumwhaks)

Two Feathers said...

I remember once when I was about 20, I drank way too much Southern Comfort and then drove home.

By the time I got home, I had thrown up 4 or 5 times in the car. I then pretty much crawled up the stairs to my apartment, throwing up along the way... and collapsed into bed... vomit everywhere.

I woke up the next morning with a killer head ache and a really really terrible mess to clean up.

I had to clean me up... the bed up... the floor up... the stairs up... and the car up...

I never did that again. Ever. Learned my lesson big time!

Thesaurus Rex said...

S.Senex; Eeeeooo!!!
Lorenzo; have just read your comment again. Burnt potatoes? I think the vomit would dissipate more quickly and leave me with all my pans intact.
Raehla; No wonder you decided to emigrate.
2F; The trick is doing it again without the vomit and drink driving and general embarassment. Then you know it's all gravy from there on.

lorenzothellama said...

When Maalie and I were teenagers we raided my mother's home made wine and then popped to the offy to buy some rum. We had a couple of friends with us and we got absoluted totally bladdered.

I put my fried to bed and the next morning she could hardly stand. I was bright eyed and bushy tailed, not a hangover in sight. I never touched rum again though, until a few years ago in the Virgin Island when some bugger gave me a rum punch or three. I fell out of a rowing boat and did a limbo dance with the most GORGEOUS guy. I was told all about it the next day.
Lorenzo the extremely sober llama.

lorenzothellama said...

Well I will certainly go to the Hedge Puzzle next time I go anywhere near the M50. I thought it was probably a maze. The two brothers sound interesting.
Thanks for confusing my blog readers. Hope I have done likewise for you!
Lorenzo.

Raelha said...

I suspect Martin is refraining from commenting as he's yet to decide just which incident of the many to tell us about.

Lorenzo, I did some raiding of my mum's drinks cupboard when I was younger (NB cupboard, not cabinet - the whole of the under the stairs was full of the stuff - how was I supposed to resist?!) and was in a similar state to your friend the following morning. I think it was the cocktail made out of a little of everything we could find in there - including some bottles of dubious origin that had remained untouched for years - that really did for me.

Martin Stickland said...

Well said that man! (re comments on my blog about the the shitty polution-titions & war, I am right with you and lorenzybum there!)

Oh no, this story of yours takes me back to coming back to my friends house and drinking his Dads 12 year old malt and then throwing up with my buddy in the down stairs loo, I can still hear the roar of his father when he made us pick up all the bits of vindaloo from the toilet carpet.....oh what joys to be young!

lorenzothellama said...

Urgh Martin.
My ex-husband thought he was a bit of a brandy buff and he kept all the good stuff for himself, as 'it was too good for us'. One night when he was off somewhere (no, don't ask) my daughter Wren and I attacked his bottle. He sometimes allowed us to 'sniff' the 'bouquet' of the brandy (pretentious git) so when we found the bottle, Wren and I swigged it straight from the bottle. 'Don't smell it first' she instructed.
Mmm. Revenge in little things makes one feel so much better!

Thesaurus Rex said...

Thanx Martin, was hoping a rant wasn't gonna spoil the tone of your post. I can go on for hours/pages on that one, as I expect most folk can. Mmmmm..12 year old malt!
Lorro; remind me never to marry you or upset you in any way, or go rowing in your general vicinity.

lorenzothellama said...

Rowing?...

Thesaurus Rex said...

"...in the Virgin Islands when some bugger gave me a rum punch or three. I fell out of a rowing boat..." 12/11/07 19:22
Good grief Lorro, must have been some punch to knock out your short term memory.

Craver Vii said...

Thanks for the invitation! While I don't relish political arguments, I was hoping you'd have potato chips or some kind of snacks 'round here. ;-)

My 21st birthday was the very last time I got drunk. (Does that disqualify this story, since I was not a teenager?) One gal offered to drive me home from the celebration, and when she took a different route, my hormones and imagination teamed up on my brain to fool me into thinking I was in for a big surprise. Bow-chicka-bow-bow. Instead, she took me to the "inner sanctum" where the hardest drinkers used to hang out. I drank some more, and that morning I painted an abstract mural on the floor of the subway.

Thesaurus Rex said...

Hi Craver.Welcome to 'The Bag Pad' Pull up a pouffe and park your booty. We serve a range of sarcasm, soul, slander and solace. All come with side salads of emotional outbursts or manic surreality. There are 'doggy bags 'if you start to feel full. Depending upon your demeaner and perspective, anyone will be welcome any time. Even the terminally fuckwitted will be admitted, though I reserve the right to rip the piss out of them for my own amusement and that of allegedly innocent passers by.

Craver Vii said...

(gulp)

Magdalene said...

It's his party and he'll do as he bloody well wants to as usual, I suppose? Well, at least you warned everyone dear.

Brian o Vretanos said...

Like Raehla, I didn't really become, er, outgoing, until university. The early years of my love affair with alcohol involved a lot of puking.

One night I threw up on the bed in my student room - well, it was near the sink... The main issue was with the wooden frame, which, although I got the smell to go away after a day or to using plenty of disinfectant, nevertheless had hardened lumps stuck in difficult to reach joints for the two years I had that room.

My second and third years were more temperate, but for some strange reason I think that the year I did teacher training was my most prolific - in one sense, at least. Two or more curry houses in Lancaster were redecorated by two of us - christened "The Chunder Wonders".

I'm glad I'm older. I certainly wouldn't wish to relive those days...