Over-served.
This past winter I tried to cut down on the amount of beer I drank in an effort to not reverse all healthy habits enforced during the work week, and because it gives me the worst hangovers. I should have known that this would inevitably result in an embarrassing scenario, but apparently I don't live and learn. On the first night of this lifestyle change/misguided effort, I attended a friend's birthday and ordered an unnecessary number of glasses of white wine (complemented by shots of patron and other questionable decisions in tiny quantities ). I proceeded to black out and DFMO with an Italian guy (think off the boat from Italy, not Jersey Shore), who then invited me back to his place for a drink. We strolled into his luxury apartment building and made our way up. Almost immediately after I sat on his couch, a thought crossed my mind: sometime in the very near future, I am totally going to vomit. Because of this slightly pressing matter, I stood up and began the process of excusing myself. He asked for my number, so literally gagging at the door, I typed it in as fast as humanly possible for someone as intoxicated as myself at that moment and bolted. Not soon enough. I proceeded to throw up in his very fancy, new elevator, run directly past his doorman, and get sick again on the sidewalk in front of the building. Needless to say, I reverted back to my beer diet, carefully mixing in a glass of wine or two when feeling extra confident. Still waiting for him to use that number; if only he'd known the consequences when he asked for it.