I’m sorry, I know purim is supposed to be the happiest day of the year and everyones favorite holiday, but it always ends up leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve recently realized that the only reason I ever did like purim was because in high school and younger you could start to slack off from rosh chodesh Adar and it was basically sanctioned. In fact, my very first purim post high school ended badly. I’d like to officially apologize to my roommate for the vomit, the plumber for the diarrhea and the rest of my roommates for the lack of clothes (all three are directly linked). I’m wondering if at this point someone just realized who I am.
This purim was no exception. As a sneak preview, I get sexually mauled by both sexes. But I wouldn’t have thought it would end that way considering I started the night shpieling in the old yeshivish fashion. Here’s a tip: Don’t shpiel with someone who knows every single family personally. Because you end up standing around the living room after your song and donation while he and the parents play catch-up and “who’s doing what now?”. At least at two of the houses I got to sit around refilling my shot glass while they kvetched, mamished and eppesed.
So after the shpiel route was done, I get a text to come to a shul party. It was fine, met some people I know, met some people I now know, and had some more l’chaims. Nothing wrong with that. For those of you who Facebook friended me, you’ll know it was my birthday that day as well (and for those of you who haven’t, why not, nu?). This is significant because I kept having to have drinks with people, more than I usually would. I’m a bit fuzzy here, but at some point I left that and was wandering the streets, possibly in search of someone, when I got a text to come to another party at someones house. (I never ignore a text telling me to go somewhere. It’s my weakness.)
I should have had a feeling of foreboding about this one, but I was too drunk to spell “foreboding” so that was right out. But I should have had a warning, when I passed a drunk frum guy in a superman outfit. As we pass he turns to look at me. Then he told me I was “f***ing hot” and attempted to kiss me. I was drunk, but lucid enough to turn my head just in time so he only got me on the cheek. That should have told me the fun part of the night was over. But no, I stumbled/ran away from his homoerotic advances in the general direction of the house. It wasn’t far. I was safe. As soon as I enter someone sees me and announces to all that it is my birthday. This led to me downing a table row of vodka shots. I’m a sucker for peer-pressure.
The announcement also got me the attention of a girl, who happily told me she was just back from sem. When it turned out we both go to the same college, we were apparently married, as she became the second person to hug me that night, though admittedly the more welcome of the two. Oh, and then she hung from my arm all night, refusing to leave. No big deal, until I decided to head home. As she had joined us at the hip, I agreed to walk her to her house since it was on the way to mine anyway. All was well until we got there, when she started violently vomiting. And as much as I keep shomer negiah, I figured some rules can be broken if it means avoiding a Jimi Hendrix-style death, so my purim night, which started off with such promise, ended up with me holding a girl up by her stomach as she spewed was looked like white rice all over the driveway. Now I was later told that being nice to a drunk girl is a no-no, as it sends the wrong message. I found that one out when she looked at me after she finished losing weight, smiled and suddenly tried to violently kiss me. That was my signal to head home, thankfully alone, as she proceeded to stumble inside and pass out.
Although she did text me the next day. But I weighed it, and figured I wouldn’t want to have to tell the story of how we met. So no.