Admission.

These photos were just sent to me tonight from Breea. I am going to admit something just between you and me. Keep it private, won't you? It's seriously embarrassing!

Back in April, I flew into Chicago for my friends Gail and Marcus' wedding. I wasn't in a very good mood. In fact, I was in an awful mood by the time I landed. But when I got to the curb, my friend Breea was there waiting for me and she was just so excited to see me, that I knew I needed to shake my stuff because it wasn't fair to bring anyone else into my drama.

We drove downtown and met my friend Sarah at a bar. She too was excited to see me (mind you, I was also excited to see them, it was just a lot of work to shake my shit). So I might have had a Red Bull and vodka. And it might've been really small and expensive, so I might have moved onto a vodka martini (more bang for my buck). Then I might have had another. And possibly one more. Then something odd happened. The rodeo was in town and suddenly the bar was swarmed with cowboys (yes, an upscale bar in downtown Chicago). Not faux big city cowboys. We are talking pure bull riding, big buckle wearing MEN!

Of course I was drooling as each one caught my eye. But somehow (and mind you my memory is a little fuzzy), there was one girl who was with them who was kind of like their guide. Somehow she took a fancy to me and brought me to join their group. Then she also decided to include me on the round of Jaeger shots for the cowboys. Now, this is a drink that I avoided during my college age and have never had a problem saying, "no" to. But for some reason, I was so mesmerized by the belt buckles that I not only had one, but two. I think it is obvious at this point that I wanted to ride a cowboy, but the only thing I would be riding was the toilet.

Long around four in the morning, we made it back to James and Sarah's apartment (that is where I was staying). James was up and waiting for us. I think it was good to see him. In fact, from the photo, it appears as I was REALLY happy to see him.
I heard a rumor we ordered some food. Some Chicago style pizza and chicken noodle soup. Both came in handy the following day, but I never experienced them that evening/morning. Instead, the evening suddenly turned ugly and I went for that ride that I mentioned earlier.

Let it be known (and I am not sharing this with any ounce of pride), that I was barfing my guts out. People could hear me from the suburbs. It was that loud and fowl. But don't worry, I decided it wasn't too late to save my dignity. Somehow I had it in my mind that no one would have know I had thrown up but me and the toilet. As I stood back up, I noticed Sarah's all in one flattening/curling iron and blow dryer. It seemed like a brilliant device. For a sober person.

Like the drunk dumbhead idiot I am, I turned the blow dryer on and began flat ironing my hair. I actually believed in my mind that I could walk out of the bathroom and have everyone believing, "Oh! Bob was in the bathroom flattening his hair! No wonder he was in there so long!"

And didn't I do a terrific job? If only those cowboys could've seen me then!

Fortunately Breea was drunk as well and was in no mood to judge me, only to pose with me.

The punishment I believe, is this lovely photo. I passed out before the food arrived. I also had to spend the entire time at the wedding explaining how I got that three inch burn mark on my upper hair line that looked like someone had drawn on with a brown sharpie. I hope if I have done anything by sharing this story, it is the importance and wisdom of: DON'T DRINK AND FLAT IRON!