Warning: This post has boobies

For the next few posts, I'm going to move some posts from the .com site to this one. Here's the first.

Who knew moving to a brand new city could force you out of your comfort zone?

You thought I was a hippie before? Or, you didn’t believe that I was one? Check ‘dis out!

Ew. Real boobies. I know. It’s frightening.

We were told the World Naked Bike Ride is a protest against using too much gas. Several people had phrases like, “Less gas, more ass,” and “less crude, more nude,” painted on their naked bodies. Ooor, was it high gas prices they were protesting? Others said it was for freedom of expression and/or to show the vulnerability of bikers. We were just there to have a good time.

Speaking of naked, I have never seen old man wang. Ever. Jake tells me that it was just like the men’s locker room. Boy, am I glad I don’t have one of those elephant faced appendages. I got a tiny (or large) glimpse into Jake’s future of manhood. Let me tell you, aging wangs do not age like wine.

Fortunately for me and my nips, I was not comfortable going totally naked and didn’t. For the record…

Fast forward a few weekends later…

I’m completely drunk for the first time in my life, leaning over the toilet, barfing out my entire insides. Who the hell drinks for fun?? THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN??? Jesus! Maybe the Mormons are right!

It all started when our crazy new friends (who also participated partially clothed in the naked bike ride) wanted to come over for Comm Fest. Jake got a text around 6:30 which said, “Hey, we’re on our way. {Wife’s name} is a little tipsy. We celebrated closing on our house with a bottle of champagne.” Be aware, these are garment-wearing, church-going, God-loving Mormons I’m talking about. Jake and I thought it was a joke.

Our friends knocked on our door and our drunken friend, we’ll call her Carol, was staggering away from the doorstep. Her husband John (name changed) says, “Sweetie, where are you going? Come inside.” This girl has never had a drink in her life. Jake and I still thought it was a joke. She was going to drop the act any second.

She came inside, put her hand on Jake’s shoulder and very loudly in a drunken slur said, “I NEED TO USE THE BATHROOM. BAHAHAH! Where’s your bathroom??” Jake showed her to the restroom. She came out after washing her hands and apparently had gotten a big kick out of the name of the soap in there. “JOHN! I just washed my hands with FRESH. PIPPEN. APPLE!! BWAHAHAHAHAH!!!!”

We asked her how she was feeling. “I just feel silly. I like this stuff. It tastes like butt-hole but I like this stuff. It makes me feel silly. It makes me burp and fart, too! In fact, it stinks over here because I just farted right now!”

If you knew this girl, you would be dying. She’s smart, polite, and very put together. She was acting very out of character and it was HILARIOUS!

In Columbus, OH it’s legal for a woman to expose her breasts in public (hence, the boobies in the video). Women who want to flash their goods take opportunities such as Comm Fest to let those ladies hang loose. Some with pasties, others with paint. Others au naturale. At Comm Fest, a girl had her back to all of us and it was apparent that she didn’t have a shirt on. Carol spotted the girl and said, “Gasp! I don’t think she’s wearing a shirt!” We all agreed. Then Carol got serious, lowered her eyes and said, “I want to see her breasts.” I. Was. Dying. Drunken Carol proceeded to trickily stagger past the woman and get a glimpse of her goods. She came back to report that, “My breasts are prettier than hers.”

By the end of the night she was calling herself “Moniqua” and had a Spanish nickname for all of us. I genuinely wish I had had a video camera.

Carol looked like she was having so much fun! The kind of fun that Jake and I wanted to participate in – or so we thought at the time. John, the DD, just so happens to be an experienced bar tender (these are Mormons, people. I’ve never met this breed before). We went to the grocery store, bought a six pack of beer and a bottle of white zin and headed to our place.

I’m not an experienced drinker. I had my first drink at 25 a few months ago. It was a dry red wine and it tasted like poison. A few weeks later, I tried a beer. To my surprise, I liked it. But, I’m a light-weight. One beer gives me enough of a buzz to just about put me over the edge. After one, all I wanna do is nap.

John made us aware that Carol downed almost an entire bottle of champagne. Like the smarty-pants I am, I thought I could pound that bottle of white zin the way Carol pounded the champagne. And I did.

Too. Damn. Fast.

Carol got very sleepy around 10:30 and John thought it would be best if he got her home to bed. I, being a bit of a whiney drunk, complained that I was just starting to feel good and didn’t want them to leave. John later reported that at some point while they were leaving, I sat on the kitchen floor and sulked. I do not recall this. John and Carol left. Drunken Erin was sad.

After they left, I remember finding myself sprawled out on the living room floor feeling like I WANTED TO DIE. I moved my head just a titch to find Jake who was happily not drunk and on his computer playing games and pounding a beer. The guy can drink like a champ.

This little head movement made me realize that I was just about to toss my cookies all over our lovely, clean carpet. Cleaning up partially digested vegetarian fried rice didn’t sound that awesome to me, so I crawled to the bathroom.

OH, THE AGONY!! That crawl was BRUTAL. My head was spinning, my body was heavy, and I was *this* close to upchucking everywhere. I thought the flu was bad…this was worse.

As soon as my head was over the toilet, I lost it. Twice. A concerned Jake then texted John and asked him what he should do in this situation. John said to force feed (drink?) me water and make me take two tylenol. We happened to be out of tylenol so Jake had to go to the store to get some. Although I have no recollection of this whatsoever, I very seriously looked at Jake and told him not to drive because he had had three beers (good for drunken me!)

Jake came back and forced me to drink water and down two tylenols which I promptly threw up. Six times over. Jake made me take more. I then began to whine and say (repeatedly), “I hate this. This was stupid. I’m embarrassed…. …I hate this. This was stupid. I’m embarrassed…. …I hate this. This was stupid…” and, “Alcohol is gross. I don’t like it. I’m more of a water/milk girl… …Alcohol is gross. I don’t like it. I’m more of a water/milk girl…” (Repeat 20 times – according to Jake). I remember feeling very ashamed that my dogs saw me in this state. I felt like a very bad mom. A bad example to my dogs… This. Is. Fer. Realz.

I finally stopped puking out my guts and told Jake I was cold and wanted a blanket and pillow. I woke up three hours later in the same position. Cold and still not with it, I thought it best to take a bath – at three in the morning.

Fortunately for me, I wound up in bed the next morning feeling good as new. No hangover. Probably because I upchucked every last bit of the undigested wine…and fried rice.

How’s that for my first (AND LAST) post-Mormon drunken experience?

Welcome to Columbus.