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"Party in the USA...or Hartford"

July 13, 2010

Units of alcohol over the weekend:
Friday: 2 Bud Lights (Happy Hour at On the Border).
Saturday: 4 Bacardi and Diet Cokes (Max's in W. Hartford and The Elbow Room).

Calories: Let's not reflect on Sunday, when I ate a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger AND I went to Joey Garlics, all before 3 pm.  Today I was doing well, until I got to Alejandro's apartment and binge ate everything in sight.

Weight: Gained 3 lbs. Fuck.  Although not surprising.

Food consumed today: 
  • a special K bar
  • light yogurt
  • grapes
  • lean cuisine
  • jello (10 calories)
  • a fun size peanut M&M pack
  • 3...okay fine 4 tacos.
  • 2 cookies
  • blueberries
Need I continue?  No?  Okay.

So I don't know how many of your are familiar with "independence parties." No, I'm not talking about the 4th of July.  I'm talking, my DB husband left me, and I'm totally better off (and skinnier!) without him, so I'm going to throw a party. For myself!

I decide my independence party will be, where else, but the budding metropolis of Hartford, CT.  So I set a date, and book a hotel room at the Hartford Crown Plaza. Although nothing says independence like a night in jail, it would suck to get a DUI (pronounced "dew-ie," for those of us in the know).

We arrive at the Crown Plaza.  Next thing I know, there is a room full of people, and we are playing Asshole with none other than Effie's "Nudie Cards" (called "The Girls," for those of us in the know).  Just an FYI, the girls are all from the 80's, and wearing combinations of leather, lace, and gloves on each card.  My personal favorite is a topless girl, sitting under a sparkling, blue, waterfall in Hawaii, with a fresh Hibiscus in her hair. It's a very interesting sociological study.


We party like college kids.  Except, instead of Busch Light and Keystone Light, we've upgraded to Bud Light and Arbor Mist.

Now, APPARENTLY the hotel is not within walking distance of the "Pourhouse" (our first destination).  Unless you consider .5 miles, ACROSS interstate 84, in January, in heels, "walking distance."

So we cab it.

We arrive at the Pourhouse.  Come to find out, they have this great thing called "Name Night."  They pick a few names each night, and if your name is one of them, you get free drinks all night!   This night one of the names was coincidentally (or not) AMANDA!

Free drinks for me!  Yay!

Of course, by "free" drinks, I mean buying everybody else drinks, and spending 100 dollars at a DIVE bar in downtown Hartford.

So I have a fabulous time, even though I'm pretty sure I'm wondering around the bar all night by myself.  We leave as the bar is closing to find a cab.  I walk out into the streets of Hartford (not exactly Greenwich) with Alejandro.  

I look across the street, and I see Mark, Kelly, Bruce and Effie at the Hot Dog stand.  

For some reason, I think this is a good time to start walking with Alejandro (who after 2.5 wine coolers, is far more drunk than myself).

We are walking to find a cab.  Alone.  All of a sudden Alejandro, for no apparent reason, ducks into another bar, leaving me out in the street, sans an acceptable form of identification.  Come to find out, I had left my ID at the Pourhouse.

I am standing on the street, alone.  Tears streaming down my cheeks in the 5 degree weather, when all of a sudden I hear, "Amanda!"

I'VE BEEN SAVED.

It's Mark, Kelly, Bruce and Effie walking down the street with hot dogs.  They even brought me one!  I shove a hot dog, that I wouldn't dare eat in the light of day, down my throat. Okay, maybe I would. Okay, maybe I'm eating one right now.

Apparently there was a "situation" at the hot dog stand.  According to the story, the hot dog vender turned out to be a crack dealer, and was arrested by the Hartford PD as we were leaving the bar.  The police were keeping the cart as "evidence," until a homeless person walked over to the cart and started serving hot dogs.

I think that may actually have been a true story.

As they are boring me with the details of the hot dog escapade, we realize that Alejandro is missing.  Figuring he must have his phone on him, I try calling.  Mark informs me that Ale left his phone in the hotel room.

Knowing Ale is without a hotel key, I do the only logical thing.  I proceed to call his cell 14 times, and leave drunken messages.  Actually, they weren't really messages, because a few times I thought his voicemail was actually him talking. I guess those would be conversations, rather than messages.

We drive up and down the streets of Hartford looking for Alejandro, until the cab driver gets really pissed and takes us back to the hotel.

As we pull up, we see Ale walking into the lobby, wearing a t-shirt (note: it is 5 degrees outside).  Apparently, he didn't have enough money, so he decided to walk back.  As he is shivering, all he can say is something about how he had stopped for jerk chicken (clearly more worth his cash than a cab ride).

We go upstairs, and nurse Effie diagnoses Ale with hypothermia.  I'm not sure what happened next, but he may or may not have taken off all his clothes, and started crying in bed.

I go to the bathroom, and realize that I'm extremely sick.

Extremely.

Sick.

I am standing over the toilet, when I loose my balance.

Next thing I know, I hear, "PING! PING! PING, PING! PING, PING, PING!" It's the sound of the shower curtain hooks, ripping off the rod, as I grab the curtain to steady myself. 

Unfortunately, I realize a little too late that these hooks aren't very strong, as I fall with a *thud* into the bathtub.

I think I'm dead until I hear Bruce say, "I think someone should help Amanda."

I'm laying in the bathtub for at least 5 minutes, wanting to cry as Effie and Kelly come in and start laughing.

Thanks guys.

They help me out, and lie me on the floor of the hotel room.  As I'm lying there, I hear Ale shivering and saying that they should get me into bed.

I hear an argument, and ever compassionate nurse Effie says that they should just leave me, and not move me off the floor, because I'm sick.

I feel Ale grab my arm in an attempt to move me, and all of a sudden I vomit on the floor.

A lot.

So much so that Effie covers it with a towel, and leaves it.

As I get into bed with Effie, I hear her complaining about the vomit in my hair.

Apparently, it's only an extra 10 dollars to have your hotel room specially cleaned at the Crown Plaza, including shower curtain replacement.

Totally worth it.

The next morning, we drag ourselves down to breakfast, looking forward to the  "complimentary" breakfast Effie has promised us.  We eat (binge on) semi fresh fruit and powdered eggs. And then a check arrives. We realize Effie has confused "complimentary" with "continental."

60 dollars for powdered eggs.

Totally not worth it.

P.S. Leaving your ID at a bar, and having to go back the next day with mascara smeared down your face, and vomit in your hair, is kind of embarrassing.


Independence accomplished. Minus the whole needing Alejandro and Mark to pay for my breakfast.


This post first appeared on Falling..., please read the originial post: here

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