A Bad Combination

"Matty, I apologize for any noises you might hear coming from the other side of the door."

With that disclaimer, I gingerly made my way to the bathroom and wrapped myself around his porcelain toilet bowl, where I wretched and heaved and yakked and garfed and burbled for the better part of an hour.

If we were playing Clue, this would be the point where you could exclaim, "Ah ha! It was General Tso's chicken in the tummy with the food poisoning." Actually, it wasn't General Tso's, which is what Matty had and was fine. No, it was the dreaded combination pan fried noodles. Wily fuckers, those noodles.

By combination, they really mean to say "leftover stuff that's probably bad, but if we mix it all together with a savory brown sauce, no one will ever know. "

In any case, that is how I found myself curled around Matty's toilet bowl on a simple palette made of towels. At one point, just after I vomited up my spleen, I was hallucinating a bit and had a short, but poignant, conversation with his floor tiles.

Beads of sweat pooled around my temples, so I slowly rolled my head off of the towel bed and onto the black and white grid pattern. "Hi tiles. Thank you for being so nice and cool. I'll never forget how you were there for me in my time of need. I love you so much. Please don't ever stop being so cold."

Finally, the misery abated enough for me to crawl out of the bathroom.

"Can I get you anything?" Matty sweetly asked.

"No, I'm afeayv twos linbe hwarels," I muttered unintelligibly. I felt bad because I know how much Matty likes for people to speak English, but I just didn't have it in me. And, bless his heart, Matty chose that point to try and recap how wasted he was the night before at my friend Scotty's Dead Prez Party.

"I was so baked last night, ha ha ha."

As I lay there, trying to think of anything else beyond the pestilence dancing around my intestines, I had several flash backs:

• Someone may or may not have gotten their nose broken that night. I had had a lot to drink, so I'm not exactly a reliable source.
• There is a stereotype of angry lesbians for a reason. One half of a lesbian couple at the party seemed to want to scrap, which prompted Matty to proclaim that he could easily win a fight against 97% of lesbians. I told him that 80% is probably more realistic.
• There really are some intense douche bags walking among us. You can usually scope them out by their circa 1993 haircuts.
• Megan Jane's eye for redecorating is unmatched. She turned Scott's comfortable bachelor pad into a swinging party complex with only a table cloth and some cinnamon potpourri.
• One of my friends is now "new and improved" with 50% more gay, so that's fun.
• Some people really don't change, and it's for the better. I got to hug my friend, Lindsey, whom I hadn't seen since I was 13, and she was even more lovely than she was at 13. Well, I guess we all are. I hope.

I tried to articulate all of that to Matty, but all I could manage was a half-hearted, "Mmm hmmpf." Sometimes, though, that's all that needs to be said.

In the Comments section, tell me what your favorite Chinese food is and any recollections you may have from Scott's party, if you were there. Maybe even if you weren't there--that would be some trippy time and space travel, kids.