Throwing Up and Being a Tool

For the first time since I was a senior in college, I threw up last night. Let me count in my head; first off, it was my first senior year, not my 5th, so that means about 7 years ago. Wow!

Let me lay out the sequence of events. It all started with our traditional Thursday night dinner that I partake in with my Visual Screenwriting Class at Stanford. My professor encourages us to go out together, because he says writers need to be around writers. In fact, we have to say things in class by starting off "my name is Kevin, and I'm a writer......" I get nervous about that part, so I mostly stay silent.

Anyway, we go to Gordon Biersch in Palo Alto after class and my appetite is quite festive. I eat all of my Chicken Parmesian, which is rare, I normally have leftovers so I can maintain my lithe physique. I also take down a Mojito and a Vodka tonic, and half a glass of water. I am pretty darn full.

Me and one of my classmates decide to keep this party going - we head over to Nola, where we both have strong Vodka-based drinks. We talk with a couple of cute girls, one of whom is highly intoxicated - nice!!! My classmate and the drunk girl seem to be hitting it off, which is great because I like her friend anyway. She turns out to be the designated driver - uh oh. My power works much better with those prone to inebriated decisions. Not to mention, her 4 guy friends lingering in the distance were seriously hating. I could feel their hating eyeballs penetrating my skull.

I dislike this feeling and proceed to make them hate on me more by getting her phone number - great success! Take that, haters. My friend and I have another drink - another stiff one. I still have not gone to the bathroom. I realize that I am at a bursting point. I try and force myself to go the bathroom with minimal luck.

I suck in my stomach and we decide to go to Blue Chalk for Beer Pong Thursdays. Bad idea. He beats me by one cup. I feel nauseous and at the brim. The girl who I got the number happens to be playing at the other table with her friends, so I say let's go. I like to play it cool, so I don't say goodbye. Probably good, because about 20 steps from Blue Chalk, I cough, followed by the sweet taste of Chicken Parmesian, Vodka and Amstel Light.

I'm embarassed, I bid my new and probably old friend goodbye. What a tool I must have seemed like. Not even drunk and throwing up. At least I got to savor the taste of Chicken Parmesian for the rest of the night and this morning as well.

Sincerely,
Kevin Leu
The Silicon Valley Tool

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