The one good thing about vomiting all over yourself is that it forces you to do chores you’d otherwise put off indefinitely. For instance, the chunks of partially digested chicken fingers, smeared into the cuffs of my jacket and the right leg of my jeans, encouraged me to perform a few loads of laundry. Also, my dorm room benefited this morning from an hour of “spring cleaning,” which can be directly attributed to the small piles of puke gathered around the foot of my bed and beside the mini-fridge. Who knew alcohol-fueled disgrace could yield such productivity?

Anyway, my body’s natural defense against alcohol poisoning was an untimely one, seeing as how I was in a cab en route to campus at the time. Still, that’s nothing a little Febreze can’t handle. If only the same could be said for my other random act of kindness: I neglected to pay my fare! Nothing gets the adrenalin going like hearing the shouts of a scorned Arab as you race to the dorm with an empty stomach and full wallet. Augh — it’s just more shame.

But whatever. The evening’s end may have sucked balls, but the antics preceding my ultimate collapse in the men’s bathroom (Thank you, dear roommate, for awaking me from that impromptu nap!) were fierce. Matthew joined Agatha and me for dinner at The Duplex, then he and I went to JRs for (more) drinks. To sum, I’ve never been so drunk (and so enamored) in all of my life.