So last weekend marked the shitshow celebration in St. John’s otherwise known as Mardi Gras…or Halloween. It’s my favourite time of year, and typically I spend a great deal of time putting together a costume. This year I went as Firefox, which I thought I did a pretty sweet job with, but hardly anybody at the party I attended paid heed.
Except for one guy, dressed as a Topgun character. I don’t know Topgun, but everyone else was happy to see him.
Anyway, he was really excited about my costume, and we started chatting for awhile. We had a great conversation, and then he left to grab a beer. I lost him in the suffocating crowd, joined my friends, and started double-fisting booze like there was a shortage.
Later, I ran into him in the throng of peopled decked out in every costume imaginable…including louffas, and one group dressed as a BLT with all the trimmings.
So we remained glued together for the remainder of the evening. Someone else took my camera and snapped a million photos, and I actually don’t remember talking to my friends much after that point. Then someone told me we were having an after-party at my place, so I invited Topgun back too.
Turns out there were more like four people at my after party. We joined them, had a seat on the futon, and then the nausea hit me.
I haven’t been sick since last year’s monumental wine fest, and I’ve been proud of this feat. I drink a lot of beer and I usually handle it well, but oh man, not that night. For some reason the beer came back with a vengeance, and I bolted to the bathroom nearby to unload everything in my stomach.
I’m not a quiet puker. You know those people who retch violently? That’s me, I hold nothing back. I’m practically screaming. He’s about 10 feet away from me, on the other side of a door.
Upon emerging, poor Topgun looked devastated. Like I had stolen his innocence. When he recovered, he was surprisingly nice about the whole thing, took my phone number, and I went upstairs to crash, expecting never to hear from him again. Suave, Candice. Suave.
But imagine my surprise the next morning when on my drive home to Bay d’Espoir, I receive a Facebook Friend Request from him. Then a text message. Then here I am two days later with a date for Saturday night, and I’m more confused than I ever was.
Should I have deployed this tactic all along? Should I have been playing the poor, defenceless victim to Alcohol? Time will tell, I guess.