So, I broke my sink with vomit. What did you do over the weekend?
Some friends threw a party. A Margarita-themed party. A pink Margarita-themed party.
Note: I capitalize Margarita. I do-not know why.
I really, really like Margaritas. Well, I like any fruity, delicious drink. Did I ever tell you about the Romber shot that we made for the finale of The Amazing Race? Take one part Jitney 14 fruit punch, one part peppermint schnapps, and Wallah! So, so good—fun and lite, but with a bite, just like the couple themselves.
My problem: thinking adding one part vodka in would give it “that certain something.” And if “that certain something” means “making it taste terrible,” well, I succeeded!
Anyway. Many pink Margaritas were consumed, and a good time was had by all. At the end of the night, once everybody had sobered up, a bottle of tequila was brought out, and shots were had. Note: “once everybody had sobered up” means “once we were so ruined that we had lost all sense of reality and thought tequila would be a good idea.”
So I wake up at roughly six the next morning, contacts glued to my eyes, all the lights in the haus on, and a run of mid-80’s Avengers scattered about me. And, let’s be honest here, I’ve got a Brita pitcha & I buy bottled water and . . . I’m a sink-drinker. Have been since I was a kid. So, I wake up needing water badly, and stagger to my bathroom, and see that my sink . . . is filled . . . well, it’s filled. With regurgitated pink Margarita. To the brim. And there is a plunger in it. Covered with Margarita regurge.
Apparently I attempted to clear my clogged drain whilst in an alcoholic haze, with less than spectacular results. If by “less than spectacular results” you mean “splashing Margarita regurge all over the walls.”
Horrified, I immediately . . . go back to bed. Because, really, I was about to lose it again all over the place.
So when I finally get up I have to do something, and decide that I could maybe bail the sink out and . . . yeah, it’s gross. I’ll spare you the details. Long story short, I end up with a clogged sink that just has some really watered-down Margarita regurge in it. And a plunger.
Yet I, ever the optimist, knew that a heavy-duty industrial drain cleaner would no-doubt do the trick. So, armed with a bottle of HDIDC (and after bailing the sink yet again), I end up with . . . yeah. Yeah, I got a sink with a lethal mixture of Margarita regurge and Drano. With a plunger stuck in it.
So I head out to buy a snake—well, what I call a snake. Apparently it is properly called a drain auger. This is a flexible piece of metal with a whim-wham on the end of it that you can, er, snake around in your drain and clean out hair. Or Margarita regurge.
So I head home and I’m doing the thingy with the snake in the drain, and I’m really pushing the snakey thing kind of hard to try and get it around the really pretty sharp curve of the trap, that’s the curvy part at the bottom, and you can do it and I’ve done it before but it wasn’t working so well and in sadly typical behavior I just start kind of banging the thing down the drain, trying to force it through, and just as I wondered you know, how old are the pipes to this thing? I mean, they could be easily forty, fifty years old I ruptured the pipe, and the snake goes through, and I let loose a flood of literally toxic vomit.
Gorjus Honesty Corner: When I said, the HDIDC didn’t work, so I went and bought a snake? Um. I didn’t tell you that two days had elapsed. Yeah.
So. Spraying all over the place is a mixture of drain gunk, Margarita regurge, and two-day-old Drano: the one thing I can say is that it didn’t get in my mouth, eyes, or fucking urinary tract.
Prized black t-shirt of the Alabama Theatre, spattered with toxic bleaching vomit regurge? Check. Bathroom floor completely flooded with toxic bleaching vomit regurge? Oh, mais oui!
Dear Pride,
Listen, dudes. We’ve taken a beating—Lord knows, you can let me dress up like a robot, but this? Is bad. But I’m proud of you, Pride, because you didn’t get crumple completely under the flood of toxic bleaching vomit regurge, or make me punch the bathroom door or something.
Although, the bathroom door looked like it would have been awful sweet to put a fist through.
Yrs in Christ,
Gorjus
Oh, oh god. This is nauseatingly riviting. My eyes are watering just reading this. When you hit that two day confession, I really almost barfed on the keyboard.
Ugh.
I want to say that’s so rock star, but this is, um, not …
u r grody.
I typed the word “Sinxjinx” into Babelfish, and it loosely translated as “a cry for help”.
Wow. I…uh…wow.
I’m totally getting you a crescent wrench and a bucket for your birthday.
i do not understand the phenomenon of sink-vomiting. you folks are wierd! do you store your dirty laundry in the fridge, too?
sheesh.
the sink offers a more ergonomic spew basin. but you have to remember that you’re gonna have to clean it up later. the only excuse for using the sink is if you’ve consumed some week-old sashimi at a popular jackson restauarant and are simultaneously detonating at both ends. then all bets are off.
[...] best drunken story I’ve heard all week–sorry, gorjus, but it even trumps your vomit-breaking-the-sink story: I got smashed in Costa Maya. I got lost (John and I are way too alike) and had [...]
and when he types: “you’re gonna have to clean it up later,” herman means “your wife will spend an hour pouring bleach down a drain and scrubbing up all the nasty rest of it whilst you dirty up another bathroom sink in your house.”
I started to comment earlier on the bizarre nature of the sink thing, but then remembered the end of the night one New Year’s Eve where I threw up on my kitchen floor simply because I was too tired to walk 5 steps to a proper receptacle.
It’s bad when you manage to embarrass yourself when you’re ALONE.