Throw It Up!

3 Feb

WHEW!!! What a weekend, folks. WHAT a weekend. I’ll jump right in, no dilly dallying required at this point.

Well, I woke up Friday morning feeling like a small child on Christmas morning, and was giddy and squirrely all morning/ afternoon in anticipation of our departure for Ames. Finally classes were over and I packed my shiv, Johnny and I picked up Kehly, and we hit the open road. Many Kehly jokes and seventy 90s pop songs later, we reached our destination. Cole, Steve and Nick met up with us shortly thereafter, and the drinking began.

We journeyed about campus for quite some time in an effort to find a kegger, but unfortunately 100% of the thirty house parties we came across were all BYOB, so we got discouraged and went back to Willow to continue our festivities, no party needed. At some point, Josh and Cody met up with us and Cole and I decide to go back to Larch with them for a reason that I don’t remember. We walk into the Larch dormitory–I am carrying a large bag full of beer and have an open Bud Ice in my hand. Cole also has a beer in his hand. As does Cody. We’re waiting for the elevator to reach us when two RA’s approach us with a baffled look on their faces. One of them looks at our beer and then says, “…We’re going to have to talk about this…”

Being in no mood to get in trouble for possession of alcoholic beverages, I quickly proclaim that, “We’re just confused…aren’t we guys, we’re confused–” and we simply walked out of the building and drank in front of it instead. This is what I like about Iowa State’s authority; it basically doesn’t exist. They really don’t care. It’s nice. Unfortunately nothing else exciting happened that night, and we crashed. Saturday was a riot, however. Buckle your seatbelts:

We wake up on Saturday, and Katie, Kayla, Laurel, Glenna, Nick, Cole, Steve, Kehly, Jesse, Jeff and myself stroll about campus in an effort to find the $2 all-you-can-eat pancake feed which had our desire all weekend. Unfortunately it was closed when we got there, so we went to Pita Pit and feasted instead. I stole a “NO ALCOHOL” sign from the steps on a bar, and Jeff rocked me in the head with a dirt clod and multiple pine cones. We returned to the dorms, chatted, tried to nap, ate at Panera for lunch, showered up, and began the party.

We consume large amounts of beer until about 9 or so I think. At this point, we have probably 25 people packed into Katie’s dorm room including the normal crowd, some other Willowites, and the entire Riverside gang plus a few randoms that ended up in my pictures somehow (?). I am too drunk to function and spend the majority of the time sitting on the floor in my staring state in which I cannot respond or move. Finally I snap out of it after Steve mentions gyros which I had been DYING to get the entire weekend, and we head out for the concert.

Story of the Year was absolutely crazy. I’ll just lay it out there. It was a sweet ass concert. I have a large blank between leaving the dorm and arriving at the concert, but the next thing I remember is telling people to put me up because I wanted to crowd surf. I get up and end up on the complete opposite side of the crowd and stage, and conveniently get dumped smack dab in front of security. They give me a black mark on my hand and say the next strike means I’m out.

At this point I am not understanding what they’re saying to me, and I go straight back up and go for crowd surf round 2. This time I coincidentally sail directly over Chris Rogness and Austin Strohbehn, and moments later get dropped like a rock on my head slash shoulder region. My, god. I was unable to feel the intensity of my crash at that point seeing as my body was basically numb, but I am feeling the repercussions now, trust me. I have some battle wounds including severe shoulder discomfort, spinal pain, a big bruise on my right shin, and a pretty nasty goose egg on my head. Fortunately I am picked up by a sexy man and the night drastically improves.

I spend the next 20 minutes screaming at the top of my lungs and rocking out until I get phone calls from the crew saying they want to go to the party. This is when I realize I had been separated from them for a good 25 minutes at this point. Oops. A really ridiculous search goes by and I finally announce I’ll just meet them at the party. After asking for directions a baker’s dozen times from other civilians and policemen, I reach the kegger and spend some quality time with strangers, my friends, and now Gabe and Jared which was nice.

Midge, Steve, Laurel and I leave the keg and walk to Kyle’s apartment where we mingled for a short time and then left to purchase a gyro (FINALLY!). It was good. The night comes to an end, and we pass the H out.

Morning arrives, and I am feeling anything but ship shape. I have literally NO voice whatsoever from screaming, and my internal organs are quite unstable. We all pack into the car and drive to Applebee’s. On the way there, I announce that I am feeling under the weather in the form of a massive hang over from hell. We arrive at the restaurant, and I make a beeline for the bathroom where I begin to vomit large quantities in front of middle aged mothers and children. In between rounds I croak out apologies and continue to ralph uncontrollably into the porcelain god.

I drag my watery eyed, snot-dripping nosed corpse back into the restaurant and slump down at the table. I drank two glasses of milk and took 4 bites of my triple chocolate meltdown (which by the way I will never be able to look at the same ever again). Moments later, I proclaim to Jared and Katie that I’m going to throw up for the second time. I try to make my way to the bathroom as quickly as possible, but some jackass with all the time in the world is literally moseying to the restroom in front of me slower than an elderly sloth. I bolt through the bathroom door and dive into a stall where I proceeded to throw up everything that I ate and drank, plus a good gallon and a half of bile to top it off.

Now, a triple chocolate meltdown looks like heaven on a plate when you order it, but trust me, it does NOT look appetizing on the way out. The milk and ice cream had curdled in my stomach acid and was now chunky and white like cottage cheese. The once thick, rich chocolate cake was now a fluffy, frothy brown foam. I throw it all up, and once again struggled to haul myself toward the table. We pay for our meals and get back in the car to head back to Willow.

About two minutes from our destination, I begin to experience the physical pre-barfing cues. I start to feel hot flashes, sweat, shiver, and become dreadfully dizzy. “Cole–I have to throw up–”
Cole snaps his head back and says, “Becca, we’re like two minutes away!”

“No, seriously I need to puke! I have to, I can’t wait!”

Everyone in the back seat starts trying to get as far away from me as possible, and Cole frantically tries to roll the window down for me while yelling, “JUST OPEN THE DOOR!! OPEN THE DOOR AND PUKE!”

We are currently driving in a two lane one way, and there are cars next to and behind us. It is POURING rain, and there is no way I can open the door and vomit out of a moving vehicle at 25 miles per hour. I am seriously panicking at this point and repeating, “I’m gonna puke! I’m gonna puke right now!”

Cole tries his best to roll my window down, but his child safety windows only open about ten inches. While I’m trying to stick my head out, I throw up and get it on the window and all over my hands. I shove my head through the small opening and continue to vomit all over myself and the side of his car. Cars behind us change into the left lane and start driving by waving and yelling while I’m projectile vomitting the chunky white remnants of my triple chocolate meltdown. I’m getting pelted with the pouring rain, and am now covered in vomit–my face, neck, hands, shoulder, shirt–not to mention my hair is soaked and matted and stuck to the right side of my face.

Everyone is laughing hysterically, including myself, while I continue to barf uncontrollably. Cole whips the car into the Willow parking lot and I stumble out of the car, still puking. There is literally puke all over the driver’s side of the car, and it is not attractive. Katie and I rush upstairs and I bolt for the bathroom which smells distinctly of urine (Thanks Cole), but I have nothing left to throw up, or so I think. I get packed up and head down to the parking lot to meet Johnny so we can head back to Iowa City. On the way, I’m waiting with Katie for the elevator, and I begin to feel uncomfortably queasy again. “There is no way I can do this car trip without throwing up!” I said. I glance to my left, and there is a small lounge area with foos ball and a few chairs, and I notice a trash bucket with a plastic bag in it. I thieve it, and head down to the car. Kehly and I pack our things into the car, and I make myself at home in the backseat with my puking bucket. We head out, and three minutes later I begin throwing up for the hundredth time. Thank god for the trash bucket.

Those are the important details. This is really long. I died. Throwing up sucks. I’m going to spend the rest of the day decomposing in my bed.

“Puerto Rican? Asian?? I haven’t even considered that!”

“Steve and I are sure as hell not listening to Mandy Moore.”


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