Death by Carrots

If you read my guest entry over at Blah Blah’s blog last week, you’d know that I woke up with a stranger in my bed last Thursday (don’t start shouting skank ho yet, I was on the couch with two dogs.)

Sunday, I woke up to an even stranger experience. As the sun came pouring through the amazing windows of my urbany loft apartment, I opened my eyes, disoriented, my laptop on my lap, my cell phone under my head, a mysterious black substance in my bed and … something in my mouth?

Now I know this is gross, but at 9 a.m. in the morning, groggy and still slightly drunk, I did the only thing that seemed reasonable. I retrieved whatever this was trapped between my gums and my cheeks with my tongue and I chewed it. These were my next thoughts:

“Aha, carrots!”

“Oh god, I could have died.”

I looked around. I sniffed. Apparently, I thought it would be a great idea to eat carrots dipped in some fancy Greek dressing I recently purchased when I had the drunk munchies the night before. The black stuff in my bed was oregano. After the dressing I spilled everywhere evaporated or soaked into my duvet, this was the evidence left over from my genius idea. Good job.

While the thought of choking to death on carrots in my sleep was terrifying (and slightly hilarious in a morbid way) what scared me more was the proximity of my computer and phone to this seriously hung over mess.

I spent a full five minutes just staring at my technology.

Ok, phone first. I looked at the inbox. I had messages from an unknown sender calling me “Ireland” (I tell lies when I’m drunk. I’m guessing I told him I was from Ireland. I hope I attempted a terrible accent.) He was telling me to “have fun with the short Ron Jeremy look-a-like.”

I had another message from who I am assuming was the Ron Jeremy look-a-like telling me to have fun at the next bar I was going to.

To the outbox. The first message was to a bartender at a dive I frequent telling him I have a crush on him. Delete all. DELETE ALL! I didn’t want to know the rest.

I touched the finger pad on my computer. Google. OK. That’s good. E-mail. Uh-oh. New message from Long Distance Love Interest.

It begins: “Yes of course I still like you, you crazy drunk …” I had more than oregano to clean up.

These are the things that happen after an open bar party and an evening of tequila.

Tequila=dying in your bed, alone, with carrots in your mouth.