Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Kipper was right!

A few years ago when my partner and I were just friends, there was a night that some have heard about, and some haven't. A night that has often been mentioned only in part. A night of anger, beer, joviality and gin. A night that gave birth to the name "Vomit Girl"; A night that punished my carpet. Badly.

For the sake of simplicity in this rant, we will now refer to my partner in the abbriated term for Vomit Girl, VG.

It's a cold winter Friday night in Melbourne, and VG's stubborn little self gets into an argument with a close friend, in Bourke Street Mall. I turn up in time to see said friend storm off, and VG looking very grumpy indeed. I turn to Kipper, who is clearly trying not to laugh, and resolves the imminent-laughter-unappropriately-close-to-a-fucking-angry-gnome situation by declaring "Well that was certainly dramatic!", and going in search of chocolate. While she's carrying out this important task, I probe VG as to what the hell happened, with no success. Kipper returns, and I'm still none the wiser, so Kipper attempts to explain, but she missed most of it too, is making little sense and keeps getting distracted by the chocolate. So, faced with a rather confusing situation, an angry, fuming, and somewhat shouty gnome, and a quickly diminishing supply of chocolate, we do what anyone else would. We go to the pub.

Jug of Coopers #1:
VG admits fault, and claims overreaction. Kipper looks at VG suspiciously and declares loudly to the bar, that VG "...has that look in her eye! Oh no!!" - Sensibly, I mock Kipper, and drink enthusiastically, pleased to have such willing companions in consumption. All seems well with the night, we eagerly await our dinners from the kitchen.

Jug of Coopers #2:
This is accompanied by Kippers' attempts to get the bar to make her a french-style aperitif. I ask for one of the same. It is foul. Kipper appears to enjoy it. I notice a large portion of the jug has gone by the time we get back to the table. Conversation is jolly.

Jug of Coopers #3:
Dinner was lovely, conversation is still jolly, but is swinging wildly from one extreme to another at the control of VG. Kipper considers getting dessert, while VG & myself wonder how we're going to pay for the next jug.

Jug of Coopers #4 & 5:
We decide that when using one's card at the bar, it's good to save time and bank fees by buying two quantities in one purchase. Kipper enjoys her dessert, and looks suspiciously at the two jugs. And us. I am highly amused. VG is slurring, but still coherant, and extremely enthusiastic. It is my personal opinion to always be encouraging of enthusiasm, particularly in conjunction with beer, and friday night. I run into some colleagues on the way to the bathroom, and notice some odd looks. I decide they're wankers, and continue on my merry way. On return to the table, I attempt to recall if I actually told them they were wankers. We soon leave, and Kipper heads home. VG and I decide that we most definately need to continue this very important conversation over a few glasses of something strong, and reassess our finances.

Somewhere in Carlton:
We decide that the cheapest way to drink, is to drink at home. I declare I have a bottle of gin in the freezer, and we start walking. VG has her bike, and plans to cab/ride home after a few stiff Gins at my house.

Lygon St:
We've since decided that in order to continue this night the method it rightly deserves, we will need to stop at a bottle shop. VG soon returns from Lambs with a bottle of Vodka in tow. I watch the bizarre process of her attempting to buy said vodka, from outside the shop window, glad to not be in there with her. It appears to be an unnecessarily complex process.

Outside shop:
VG is now very loud and abusive indeed. I decide to sit out the first round of the newly found vodka, as VG swigs directly from the bottle, still entombed in its paper bag. Some bewildered teenagers walk past, VG notes two of them are her students. We continue to walk in the general direction of 'home'

Carlton Gardens:
I catch a possum! I name it, and attempt to turn it into a living billboard. It's rather cute, decides we're harmless, and continues to eat out of the trash can. VG declares she "needs to take a slash", and tells me to hold her bike. She finds a convenient tree. Suddenly, she makes a rather ambitious attempt to both run, and pull up her pants simultaneously. She has realised the initial tree was under a spotlight and on a public path. On which a couple were strolling down. The couple speeds up. I make a mental note to get her to catch a cab on return to my place.

We get home:
We attempt to stealthily enter the house, so as to not disturb my housemate, when we realise both Alex and his date for the evening are in the loungeroom. They seem impressed with our somewhat sudden & clumsy appearance, and invite us to have a drink with them. I get the gin, and tell VG there's no vodka left (there's about 1/4 of the bottle).

VG drinks the gin straight from the bottle, we all look on, stunned. Alex and his date look quite comfortable, and are being thoroughly entertained by VG. I decide it's time to roll myself a joint as a reward for getting home, and head out the back to smoke it.

I return to find VG propositioning Alex & date. She asks them to fuck for her. On the couch. Right now. They think this is great, and are having a good laugh. VG goes on to explain in detail, exactly what she'd like them to do.

It's safe to say she's now rather intoxicated, and going downhill fast.

I notice the gin is gone, and get her a glass of water. Which she promptly spills on herself. I offer to call her a cab. She announces she's staying the night. Alex and date seem to be making a move now, so I go and get her a blanket. On return, she's now talking gibberish to Alex, demanding he set the VCR up, or some other nonsense. He laughs at me, and sings "Your guest! Your mess!"

Alex and I try to shift her onto the couch. She refuses, and starts trying to attack us, in the only way a small, drunken gnome could. Angrily, but rather ineffectually. We leave her sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking rather pathetic but still shouty, & wrap a blanket around her. I go to bed.


The morning:
I wake around 8 or so, with knocking on the door. It's Kevin & his girlfriend, come to pick me up for breakfast. Kevin comments on the smell before we get to the loungeroom. I think I can guess what I'm about to see, and I am right.

The gnome is now curled up on the couch, wrapped in my now vomitty blanket, accompanied by the pool of vomit on the floor where she had been sitting. I am less than impressed. I go out the back and try to find things to clean this with. Kevin asks how he can help, I tell him to find me a bucket or something to put vomit in. He comes back with a saucepan. I tell him he's a fucking idiot, and tell him to find me something we don't put food in.

I start to clean up the mess, and Alex walks past, and mocks me. I'm now even less impressed, and sharing the events of the previous night with Kevin and g/f, with a fair smattering of descriptive terms such as "fucking useless drunk" & "fucking pain in the arse" thrown in for good measure. I note that there's vomit on the couch, the blanket, the rug, the carpet, the armchair, and the coffee table. I loudly note my dissapproval of people who are less reliable than an incontinent cat, when drunk and indoors.

All large chunks removed, Kevin is attempting invite VG to breakfast. There's no response, just the occassional mumble. I spit violent death threats, and am scrubbing at the carpet when the first coherant words emerge from her mouth;

"No, don't rub it in, soak it up."

What?

"Don't rub it! You'll only make it worse!"

WHAT?

"The vomit, just soak it up."

SHUT UP!

My anger now knows no bounds. I decide that now is a good time to go and have breakfast with Kevin, sans VG. Before we leave, I gently approach her, informing;

"I've left the taxi number out for you, so you can call a cab home. There's some tea in the cupboard, but we don't have any food. I'll call you later on".

Imagine my anger when returning after 2pm, to find the vomit no more cleaned up,
and the vomitty slug still entrenched on the couch - seemingly not moved at all. I tell her I'm calling a cab. She tells me that she can't move yet. I ask her what will help her move. She whines pathetically. I start cleaning up the vomit again.

Three hours later, I get her into a cab - which she has to make stop part of the way home, so
she can vomit again. I rejoice in the knowledge that she's out of the house, and is now her housemates' problem. I kick back and enjoy the secret-hidden-food, and inhale the new-found lemon freshness of our loungeroom floor.

I call VG up later that night, and apologise to her housemates for sending her home. They sympathetically understand, and share my pain. She gets on the phone, and tries to declare that she must have eaten something that didn't agree with her... I recap her on on the events of the night, including the better part of a bottle of vodka. She wimpers a bit, and crawls back to bed.

Alex returns home, does the point and laugh thing a bit, and I complain noisily about how fucking difficult she was to get home. He proclaims "That's what you get for having Vomit Girl as a friend". He was right, and the name stuck.

The real kicker? A couple of days later, I ask why she didn't even attempt to get to the bathroom when she vomitted during the night. Her response? 'I didn't even know I'd done it. I woke up at 4am, and noticed I was covered in cold sick, and though "Who would do such a thing?" I was actually very upset!!'

Not as upset as my undeserving carpet, Vomit Girl.

Consider this another rantolotl public service announcement - and let it be known that I no longer am that kind to drunken little balls of vomit in their hour of overindulgence, no matter how cute they might be.

Remember - it's all fun and games until someone has to get a bucket and a mop.

8 comments:

Krus said...

You say that you're not too kind to small vomiting creatures anymore. What about guinness? How many times have we woken up to find his last meal on the floor again?

Fandango Jones said...

Yeah. I take it this intolerance to "drunken little balls of vomit in their hour of overindulgence" is a recent thing, given that an event of similar magnitutde occured after at/after a wedding not too long ago... =P

Makes me think though, we certainly have more than our fair share of vomity escapades =D

the rantolotl said...

Yeah, All my best stories involve vomit.

It was actually after the wedding (Do people want to hear that story?) when I made that decision. VG is very aware of this, and knows that I'm now more than happy to leave her drunk and vomiting on the streets of Prague, in some other poor pleb's care.

CJ said...

Lies, filthy lies, all of it. A complete work of fiction. Unbelievable. Scurrilous in fact...

Fandango Jones said...

"Drunk and vomiting on the streets of Prague"

Sounds like the perfect title for a Python/Pratchett - esque schlock detective novel. The twist ending could be that the killer was hiding in the crisps all along.

Jo said...

Dear oh dear oh dear. Reminds me of my first piss-up as an activist, I coated an entire dance floor in vomit and ended up unconscious. Next day I woke up back at the meeting place, the opposite end of London from where I'd dropped. Turns out I'd walked there without knowing it.

the rantolotl said...

You have to love drunken adventures =D

Esmerelda Smith said...

VG has left a patch somewhere in the vicinity of One Tree Hill in Auckland, where the tar seal on the road was eaten away by her stomach contents.