Last night was the wrap party for the show I worked on earlier this year, Wildboyz. It was at the Knitting Factory, and they had several bands—including Turbonegro (who rocked). More importantly (in general and for the purposes of this entry), there was an open bar. And I took a taxi there. And a flask, because I didn’t know there would be an open bar. I guess the rest pretty much writes itself.
I woke up completely drunk, late, and aching. My right arm is bruised from the elbow to the shoulder. My left arm is covered in scratches. Amanda, who went with me and stayed night, was rushing around getting ready for work. I called my boss and told him, “I’m so sorry, I’m later than I planned on being, you won’t believe how crazy it was. I’m covered in bruises! Jeez, I’m so sorry. God, I’m glad you gave me my performance review yesterday! Ha, ha, ha.”
Did I mention I was drunk when I woke up? And I don’t remember anything beyond midnight, so I can’t actually tell you how much I drank (beyond the two screwdrivers, five beers, and half-flask of vodka).
Into work I go, completely out of it, glassy-eyed, barely comprehending the words coming out of people’s mouths. One of my supervisors greeted me by calling out, "Hey, Drunkard!" when I got in, at noon (an hour and a half later than I told my boss I'd be).
The minute I signed on to messenger, I got IMs from Donny and Barry, friends who were at the party last night. They both wanted to know whether I was okay, and were amazed I’d gone in to work. I know this must mean bad things. I press them for details and learn that I was essentially poured into a cab by them after we all got kicked out of the bar at two. And after I fell. Three times. That explains the bruises. The way Amanda put it, very diplomatically, "you seemed to be holding court at the bar sitting on a bar stool surrounded by your work buddies and then it was time to go and you couldn't stand up very well."
Oh my god. Mortification set in. Although people usually forget this kind of behavior right away, I imagine that they remember it forever, and are doting constantly on the memory of my tits falling out of my shirt as I lay sprawled on the Walk of Fame outside the Knitting Factory, waiting to be poured into a cab. Then I remembered the kind of people that were there, and that they have ALL done way worse, and seen way worse, than any of the shit I did. It’s not as if I stapled my nuts to my leg, or passed out in a puddle of my own urine in a hotel hallway.
Although Amanda did fill me in on some of what happened after we left, and now I understand how people end up in those positions. Apparently, we couldn’t figure out how to get back into my building. It IS a pretty big building, and there ARE about four entrances. Once we did find the right one, I couldn’t remember my apartment number. There are four floors, and every door in every hallway on each of them looks exactly the same. I just kept trying the next closest door with my key. Amanda said, "I finally sat you down and was like, 'Helena. We can't keep just trying to break into every apartment in the whole building. YOU HAVE TO remember your apartment number.' And you focused and finally peeped, '137.'" I can not imagine the racket we made going through the halls, at 2:30am on a weeknight, with me intermittently falling.
I spent the day at work making trips to the bathroom about every twenty minutes to throw up whatever small amount of fluid I’d ingested since the last time I threw up. I kept telling myself to make it just a half hour more, and then I could go home early. I did this until it was 6 o’clock. After I got home from work, I had to trade my date for a nap. At 10, I woke up ravenous. One Cheeseburger later, I’m feeling tired but decent, aside from the numerous aches and pains that keep surfacing. Hopefully a hot bath will cure some of those.
All I have to say is that I am partied out for a while. If anyone reading this was there, please accept my apologies for the behavior you witnessed. And know that I don’t usually fall that much.
More mtv days
OMG this was totally BETTER than the version you told me initially!!!!
poor bruises!! i'm sure they don't detract from your beauty
Posted by: ceity on October 15, 2005 01:24 AMWell, I was drunk until about 3:30pm, so anything I wrote before then is probably a bit on the crap side :)
Posted by: Helena on October 15, 2005 01:40 AMoh god! That looks painful!
How you could hold up at work after a night like that is beyond me, you must have an iron will! If I were your boss I'd have given you the day off, for sure!
I have horrid memories of working at a deli with a terrible hang-over *shudder*
Posted by: rarity on October 15, 2005 01:55 AMOh, you poor girl. Being much older than you, I can look back wistfully upon my own black-out-blue-all-over binges.
Wait, can one technically be wistful for something that only happened 2 weeks ago?
Posted by: brando on October 15, 2005 09:34 AMOh my God if I saw those bruises, I would totally think you were being abused by your parents. That is, if you lived with them. And I was your guidance counselor. And I worked in your school. And. What was I saying?
Posted by: AJ on October 15, 2005 01:55 PMWow. I'm totally flashing back to a wrap party when I drove two smashed guys home. Dead weight is HEAVY. Fortunately I had help getting them into my car. They were so drunk they didn't remember where they lived for a while either...and I had to convince a security guard we were legit before driving into the complex of multi-plexes that all looked the same.
I bet they woke up to a lot of bruises too. Ouch.
Posted by: claire on October 15, 2005 02:37 PMMein Gott!
You look like you wrestled a tiger, in a phone booth, while trying to make a collect call.
To New Zealand.
Posted by: Groonk on October 15, 2005 02:42 PM
Rarity, I was hoping my boss would take pity on me (or get fed up with my making one mistake ater another) and send me home. But, like everything else, I compensate so well for feeling under the weather that everyone thinks I'm fine.
Brando, you absolutely can be wistful about something that happened two weeks ago. But I think in order to be wistful, it helps to have some recollection the event in the first place.
AJ, I fell down the stairs. Four times.
Claire, you are an angel. I can only imagine taking care of someone that way. I have to send fruit baskets to Barry and Donny. And Amanda!
Groonk, isn't it sad? So many questions! Each scrape has a story...a story I'll never know. I decided to make some up in my head. Tiger-wrestling was actually the first to cross my mind. I like the way you think.
Posted by: Helena on October 15, 2005 04:15 PMYou must ABSOLUTELY promise you will wear some kind of tag ID around your neck the next time you decide to get wasted like that. What if you had ended in someone else's apartment who did not speak your language and try to convince you that you ACTUALLY belonged THERE. You could had fallen(again....?) for it and you would not be my daugther today,but some little oriental lady's child...But....what am I saying ? I'm actually admitting to the whole world that I raised Helena.....yeah...the girl that gets greetings from her boss as ..."Good morning, Drunkie".
Honey, I'm so sorry about those bruises. No wonder you have not called me in a couple of days. Ice the first 24 hours and then warm compressess thereafter
Good God, girl! I'm torn between laughing with you over your forgotten antics or pursing my lips into a frown of concern. Those are some nasty looking bruises. You must have fallen like a lump of concrete to produce those beauties.
Posted by: Jen Neil on October 16, 2005 05:23 AMHa! You give her hell Mom! LOL
(ha ha ha Helena you got in trouble)
sorry couldn't resist :)
BTW The bruises look so much worse in person! ouch!
Posted by: Marina on October 16, 2005 01:46 PMHoly crap, I *so* know this experience! When I was living in Moscow, I had the occasion to party my brains out from time to time. One night, out with friends, I ordered a bottle of champagne, but no one wanted to drink it with me. So, I started on it, and, apparently, I switched to vodka shots, then returned to finish the bottle of shampanskoye. All I know is, I woke up the next morning with a black eye and my hands enormously swollen and black and blue.
My friends told me I got up from the table, decided to go home and went out and flagged down a taxi by standing in the street and stopping one with my hands. I was an animal back then.
Now, if I have a glass of wine once every six months, it's a huge occasion. Being middle-aged and diabetic helps temper the animal within. And I no longer wake up with mystery bruises. (Although, I must say, I'm impressed by your scratches. Damn!)
Glad to see someone is still carrying the torch for the wild women. Just take care of yourself, eh?
Posted by: Merujo on October 16, 2005 08:40 PMI'd like to hear the questions you get at work tomorrow about these bruises.
Posted by: Neil on October 17, 2005 02:08 AMOh my gosh! That looks so painful. You poor thing.
I have watched WildBoyz, Bam and Jackass so I know who you are talking about and I know what those guys do to themselves. Are you sure that you did not participate in a new Jackass movie??? Then again, how would you know until it comes out.
I also can not believe that you stayed at work so long. You really should have been home. Hope you are feeling better :-)
Posted by: Jewels on October 17, 2005 08:53 AMMom, luckily, I am still YOUR daughter. I figured that I had done plenty to make you proud, and not nearly enough to shame you. It's all about balance, right? This way you can appreciate my good behavior all the more :)
Jen, the bruises just keep getting scarier, too!
Rina, laugh now, but when I show her the "censored" photos from the kegger, you're in for it ;)
Merujo, I have a whole new admiration for you! I really wish I knew what I'd done to get the bruises and scratches--but I think it wouldn't be nearly as cool as your taxi-hailing technique.
Neil, there are more jibes than questions. Boss' first remark: "So did you recover this weekend?"
Jewels, thank you for your sympathy :) You can see why the WORST I could do would still be mild compared to what they've seen.
Posted by: Helena on October 17, 2005 11:56 AMOh, there was another good part in there, in the cab on the way home. The cabbie was not amused by us. At all. But of course I thought everything was hilarious. So we get to your apartment complex and I'm digging into my wallet to pay him with my credit card and hand it to him and he looks at it and says, with accent, "You cannot pay for ride with Vons club card." Ha, ha, ha. It was dark and my Vons club card is gray like my credit card so I pulled out the wrong one. But I mean, C'mon, he didn't have to put it like that. Would anybody dressed as fabulously as I think that they could pay for stuff with a Vons club card? I was drunk, not retarded. Vons club cards ARE occasionally useful for cutting cocaine however.
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