Tuesday, November 21, 2006

ThePeach Has a Gong-Show of a Weekend

This weekend was hilarious. Parts were amazing, parts were hysterical, and parts were a swift punch to the box courtesy of the old “vulva 1-2”. It was exactly what I needed…minus the punches to the box.


I skipped work. TheBoss is in Africa. I’m not sure if he licked a frog there or what, but I’d gotten some…um….touchy-feely emails from him over the week. Such as (and I swear to Lucifer that this is copied word-for-word):

Hi ThePeach,

Great to hear from you buddy... yes I climbed a friggin mountain, I have other pics for later. I also almost got mugged at knife point, please do not tell others, I don't want to worry anyone.

I know that these are hard times for you now, but stay busy, go to church, pray to god for some kind of reason for all of this, and then play "feel" by Robbie Williams and listen. I was just listening to it, can give you a lift! Time will tell if you are doing what is right for you (and that is the most important part of this time).

When I get home I want you to come over the house for a Sunday night dinner with my family, we would like that, I am sorry I have not suggested this earlier...

I might go shark cage diving tomorrow before heading back? But the wife said "No way, are you nuts... no way", so I likely won't. Fun thought though.

Have I told you lately how good it has been having you around? Well it is.

Chow for now.



Ya…what the shit was that? Listen to Robbie Williams? Go to church? I’m not sure if he wants to rape me or convert me anymore. Life was simpler when he just called me fat then looked at me with sex-eyes. Maybe he has Malaria…

So anyway, I spent Friday doing laundry, having lunch with TheHubby, and buying booze and double-sided tape for the weekend that lay ahead. All of my school-friends and I were going to a University reunion-dance in the big city that weekend, and it promised to be fantastically sketch. My goals included looking so hot that I made chicks hate me, being so drunk that I accidentally slipped a nip out of my dress, and touching inappropriate men/touching women inappropriately. It was a hefty challenge, but I was up for it.

I headed for the big city with a suitcase full of wine and a backpack full of hope…and wine. Cleavage’s mommy/daddy gave me a ride most of the way there and I took the Go Train the rest. The ugliest, sketchiest guy ever sat beside me the entire trip on the train. He looked like he should be kept underground in some sort of cage. The entire car was empty, yet he sat beside me. He offered me subway tokens, club passes, and his card. Why do I always attract the mole-people?

When I got to the big city I waited for TheCorporate and WeeOne to pick me up outside the train station. I got completely cleared out of change by the 5 homeless people who asked for money while I waited. I can’t say no to hobos. Neither can TheHubby ;)

I was driven to QueenB’s apartment where QueenB, TheHippie, Workahol, and TurkishDelight were bombed off their asses. I was immediately handed a chilled Smirnoff ice. Life was perfect. 10 minutes later I was talking in the throaty voice and saying inappropriate and shocking things to my friends. I love the drink. We talked about boys (ThePeach’s Heart: AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH) and Workahol mentioned that she was interested in a boy who was so hot that he looked like he could be in a Sears Catalogue.

A Sears catalogue. Strange that is where her mind went. Sears. Last time I flipped through a catalogue, the only criteria the models had to meet was to have all their limbs. And some of them wear long pants, so they could be hiding peg-legs. Sears…do you think he’s hot enough to ride the mower in the “gardening” section, or maybe he just sits awkwardly on a sofa in the “home” section?


I woke up feeling like yesterday’s whore, as usual. I was sharing a bed with TheCorporate, but I had to promise her that I wouldn’t try to spoon her first. Frigid prude. Everyone needs some Peach love from time to time…she just doesn’t know it yet.

We went to brunch and then shopped downtown. We went back to QueenB’s apartment to rest before we had to start prepping ourselves for a night of drunken whoring. And then, the phone rang…

TheHippie: Hello?
TheHubby’sSis: Is this TheHippie?
TheHubby’sSis: This is TheHubby’sSis. I just got a collect call from TheHubby, who is on the other line. He’s totally bombed and lost downtown in the big city. He forgets your address and your phone numbers. He doesn’t have a cell. He is wandering the streets trying to find you guys, dragging a suitcase behind him.
QueenB: Tell him that we’ll come find him! Where the fuck is he?
TheHubby’sSis: TheHubby, look around you. What intersection are you closest to?
QueenB: Tell him not to move. We’re coming to find him.

Before we got in the car, we map-quested the intersection he had given us. Not only did the intersection not exist, but the streets he had named (which run parallel to each other) were nowhere fucking near us. And we had no way to reach him. How in the name of sweet gentle Christ had he ended up there? Where the fuck was he? How the fuck would we find him? The only thing we didn’t question was his being shit-faced at 3pm, because that was the one thing that made total sense.

QueenB, TheHippie and I roamed the streets of the big city in TheHippie’s car for the next hour, searching for TheHubby. Do you know how many fucking people there are in the big city on a Saturday afternoon? It was not an easy task to locate him, but we finally spotted him – surly and drunk – sitting on his suitcase on a street corner. We took him to TheCorporate’s apartment. Crisis averted. Time for drinky.

We got dressed. We got bombed. We ordered HoLee Chow’s. I taped my tits into my dress. We cabbed to the dance. And then…karma.

In the 5 years that I have known TheHippie, she has never once not been able to hold her drink. She drinks men twice her size under the table. She is a teeny Irish bundle of pure alcoholic energy. She has taken care of me when I have a) thrown up on bathroom walls, b) thrown up out of the open door of a moving cab, c) passed out in her hotel bathroom, forcing her to pee with me curled up around the toilet. I’m hot.

The night of the dance, I had proclaimed it to be my fabulous trampage coming-out party. That would be the night I no longer got the sads! I would make out with mens! And womens! And be hot and fabulous and maybe take home a rich alumni!

Karma deemed it to be the first night in 5 years that TheHippie couldn’t hold her drink and thus vom’d on my legs.

Oh, TheHippie – I love you so. And I do not hold it against you that you vom’d on my legs on the night of my coming-out party. But brace yourself, because I am now going to recount the details of your drunkenness in embarrassing detail.

About an hour after we got to the dance, TheHippie started getting tippy. Not tipsy – tippy. She literally started falling over. In my brilliance, I decided that some food would sober her up a bit. So I fetched her a plate full of desserts from the buffet. 5 minutes later TheHippie’s face was covered in chocolate and she had smeared chocolate hand-prints all over some guy that she hugged. The girl was seriously up to her elbows in chocolate. I’m not sure how she managed it.

I took her to the bathroom to wash up, and she dunked her head in the sink and then passed out in the chair in the powder room. I couldn’t get her to move. TheCorporate and AsianCymbals came in to check on us and also tried to rouse TheHippie to no avail.

ThePeach: TheHippie…get up. You need to get up or we’re going to get kicked out.
TheHippie: ….give…give…me a minute *smack*
TheCorporate: Do you need to go home?
TheHippie:…give…give me a minute *sigh*
AsianCymbals: Sweetie…you really need to get up now.
TheHippie:…give…give…me a minute *loses control of neck, hits head on counter*
Security: She’s so out of here. Now.
TheHippie:…give…give me a minute *slides out of chair*

Well, she’d been officially kicked out. And as her life-partner, it was my role to go with her. I sent AsianCymbals to get TheHippie’s coat. While my back was turned, TheHippie stumbled into a bathroom stall, locked the door, and passed out on the floor beside the toilet. Awesome.

I was *this* close to having to slide under the door on my knockers, but luckily AsianCymbals’ yelling snapped TheHippie into reality long enough to unlock the door and let me pick her up and put her in her coat. As we were heading out, AsianCymbals gave us a plastic bag in case TheHippie vom’d. I laughed:

ThePeach: Ha! TheHippie has never thrown up in her entire life. Seriously, we don’t need that. She will not be puking. I promise.
AsianCymbals:…ya…take it anyway.

TheHippie and I got driven home by TheCorporate and her room-mate. She nuzzled in my shoulder like a good little drunky. TheCoroporate and her room-mate went to park the car and I took TheHippie into the apartment building. I propped her up in the elevator…

ThePeach: We’re almost there, babe. Just hang on a few more minutes.
Elevator: *floor 1*
TheHippie: uuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhh
ThePeach: Are you ok?
Elevator: *floor 5*
TheHippie: *starts heaving*
ThePeach: Ok hottie, just hang on a few more minutes. Don’t puke. Not in the elevator. We’re so close.
Elevator: *floor 10*
TheHippie: *violent vomit onto ThePeach’s legs*
ThePeach: OH GOD!!!
Elevator: *floor 12*
TheHippie: “violent vomit onto ThePeach’s feet*
ThePeach: OH GOD STOP!!!
Elevator: *floor 15*
TheHippie: *violent vomit all over the elevator floor and walls*
Elevator: *floor 18*
TheHippie: *violent vomit onto self*
Elevator: *floor 20, doors open*

Ya…karma literally vomited on me. Well, I dragged TheHippie into the apartment. It was more like I sprinted down the hall while dragging her behind me. She left a trail of vom in the hall which I would later clean up with paper towels and vinegar. I got her into the bathroom and eventually she stopped the vom-train. She wanted to be left alone, understandably. I went into the hall to start dabbing at the vom when I heard a loud *BANG*! I ran back into the bathroom to find TheHippie passed out in the bathtub, legs open, sans panties.

I don’t know if we’re non-sexual life partners anymore…

I got her into bed and spooned with her until she passed out. I was happy to finally have someone who appreciated my spooning, even if she was unconscious with dried vomit in her hair.


Ate greasy eggs, drove home, went to the bar with TigerCat and CockDoc. Got bombed. Told them my pitiful tale of karma gone wrong.

And then, later…


And no crying this time, ha.

Karma didn’t hate me!!! It was just waiting until Sunday!

Because I am a classy whore, I won’t say who it was. But I will say this: it was good. Great, in fact. And I will be calling for more. Because I have woken up the beast and now it needs to be fed.

Let the trampage begin!



Anonymous said...

Hi Peach,

Well, I appreciate you taking care of my lady friend. She truly is one step shy of a full blown alcoholic.

I will vouch for all who may read this that she is a trooper when it comes to the boozin'. I am actually two of her by weight and she gives me a run for my money and i've got a scottish liver to boot.

Anyway, Im proud of you for you laying the mens. Way to slut it up in style.

TheCrip (TheHippies Man-friend)

weeone said...

good use of the greys analogies peach.

and as a former housemate of thehippie .. she too has helped when i have been 'under the weather'... she has never done this before... we still love you thehippie :) (i swear it was drugs or something)

great seeing you this weekend.. the blog was awesome reminder.

come visit :)

TheHubby said...

Oh sweet sacrificial Jesus this was a good weekend! Combined we all drank a bathtub full of cheap wines, ate dirty chinese, took pictures (in all of which I look VERY tanked), and I remembered why I love you girls!

And Peach, since you're now getting the sex from someone we have more to talk about! Yeay!

ps...Hippie, Peach might have seen your vag, but she didn't not like it, so it's ok!

Anonymous said...

So that's how you kept your dress on your body all night. I wasn't sure if I was goign to get to see a little nip slip that night. I thought it was magic! Now I know it was the magic of double sided tape.

Cleavage said...

I, too, have experienced the tender mercies of TheHippie when I've been...er...indisposed. At least, I think it was her. I'm pretty sure. I know that she definitely picked a wedgie for me once, but I think that falls into a different category.
ps: I hate you for having the sex. So much. We have nothing to mutually complain about now, so you're cut.

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