Today's Blog: Boot and Rally? It's not what you may think

Tiger Woods is in my opinion the greatest golfer to ever play the game. People who are inclined towards an historic view of sports will tend to look at career victories and grand slams in which Woods has a long ways of going to match the legend of Jack Nicklaus, but his pure domination of the sport in a time where golf is more popular than ever is truly fascinating. I could even argue that Woods dominates his sport moreso than did Michael Jordan during his reign of 6 championships in eight seasons. The criticism of Woods early in his career however was that he was all business and no fun, scowling and intimidating his opponents on his way to victory. The exuburance of a long putt fist-pump seemed to only be a break from personal frustration. This opinion of Woods changed in my mind though when I read a quote he gave in a post victory press conference after suffering through a day of the stomach flu and constant vomitting during his Sunday round. "It's just like college, boot and rally, you know."

If you're not familiar with the term, "boot and rally" refers to puking from too much drinking and then saying what the fuck and continuing to party. No, this blog is not about Tiger Woods at all, but rather a story near and dear to my heart that lately I think about every time I think of that phrase. Can I say I've never puked and taken a few swigs of mouth wash before exiting the bathroom, hoping my fellow partiers wouldn't realize the evidence in my breath? Well, use your imaginations. Either way, here is very true story of a very literal "Boots" and rally that I endured not so long ago.

Skipping most of the irrelevant set up, I found myself driving a girl named Rachel Boots (notice the last name) back to my house one day following such exciting events as her pounding four margaritas and in turn knocking my pint of Miller Light all over my crotch region. I knew it was time to leave, and for whatever reason this girl had a strong desire to play my home edition of the original Playstation version of Dance Dance Revolution. Her mannerisms were telling me a rare (for me) hook-up was in the cards, but fate thought otherwise. One last detail, without elaborating too much, you just have to know that the girl in question on this night was fucking crazy as hell...but that's another story.

The session of DDR didn't go so well, as Rachel managed to fall over sooner than she achieved a proper dance step. The same was true of her attempt to walk down the stairs to the bathroom, but despite the car-wreck like sound she bounced right back up when I investigated. This girl was drunk, and I was only partially so...what would the moral police say? At this point, I heard no sirens...

So she returns from the bathroom and plops down on my couch. I fear that she's mere moments away from passing out belly down in my living room. I decide to act fast, as I sneak up behind her and begin to give her a back massage, to which she responds rather well. After a few minutes of conversation in this position she requests that I lie down next to her for a minute before she goes down to the bathroom one more time before we go to bed. I figure this is an obvious invitation. As soon as I get next to her her expression suddenly changes and something resembling a hick-up emerges from her mouth. I'm slightly startled, but was not worried until the same grimace and suffocating noise returned a couple times in quick succession, to which I decided it may just about be time to sit up. No more than 1 second after I was resting on my palms in an upright position did Rachel begin projectile vomitting directly into the corner of my couch. She hit everything. Our coats, her brand new purse, her blouse, and due to the nature of her position she covered her own face as well as anything.

To be perfectly honest the first few moments were nothing less than mortifying, but that soon changed. Does anyone remember the feeling you got when your mom caught you misbehaving and you almost started to cry before she even had the time to discipline you, as you were in that instant so sure of your eventual fate? Well, although quite a bit short of a tear my initial reaction was one of pure frustration along the lines of 'how the fuck am I supposed to clean this shit up?' After about 10 seconds, however, I felt a smile cross my face as the reality of what had just happened occurred to me. I could already see everybody from work swinging their fists together like a set of double doors closing my oportunity to ever hook up. But when you become used to such tragic events, as I surely have, you learn that at least the story is better than nothing.

Perhaps the most amusing image from that evening was when she first began to stand up following her purge. The puke that had covered her face had even managed to cause her eye make-up to run down her cheeks, quite a variance from the all too common sight of a woman crying blue streaks, as these streaks were red and altogether not appealing. In hopes of saving the reader's lunch and continuing the rest of the story at a somewhat bearable pace let me just say that I escorted her to the bathroom downstairs and told her it might be wise to take a shower. I returned back upstairs to formulate a plan to eradicate the mess she had created. I took the coverings off of the couch cushions and grabbed all the clothes that had been hit by the torrent and took them downstairs immediately to be washed. At this point another completely ridiculous surprise awaited.

As I came around the bend to the door of the bathroom I could hear the shower running quite easily. I soon discovered that this was because Rachel had not only neglected to close the bathroom door, but she hadn't even considered closing the shower curtain to protect our bathroom floor. Oh, and she was completely buck naked. I wasn't quite sure what to say or do, so I remember matter of factly telling her to shut the shower curtain as I grabbed the door and shut it promptly. I started the washer and returned to the door to inform her that I would return to check on her in a few minutes after I had done some additional cleaning to the living room.

Once the time came for me to return to her I found the door closed but the sound of splattering water was not audible. I asked what was going on in there and she responded by telling me that she was now taking a bath. In my mind I responding by saying, "Who the fuck takes a shower and then takes a bath at somebody else's house after they just puked all over themselves?" but instead I remained speechless. Then she continued to inform me that she was bored and wanted me to come in to keep her company. (?) I cautiously did just that to find her taking a bath with the shower curtain closed (did her parents confuse her at a young age). She did on the other hand manage to sit up once I got in and pull the curtain back to address me, at which point she obviously exposed her naked breast, which for good reason at this point actually turned me off more than ever.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any more peculiar, they did. I asked her if she wanted a tooth brush seeing as to how she had just vomitted and she agreed, so I journeyed to my room and found a spare and returned to her. When I offered to leave it on the bathroom vanity she shut me down, requesting that I just paste it on up and hand it to her there in the bath tub. Who the fuck was I to turn her down at this point? I did just that and she rewarded me by taking the bizarre request to a new level when she matter of factly spit her mendament enriched mouthful directly into the very bath water she had just cleansed herself of puke. All I could remember thinking was "classy!" I made sure to tell her that I was sure she would come out of that bath smelling minty fresh. By this time I had already brought her some back-up clothes to wear in place of her previous attire, and despite the protests of several guys who have heard this story, I did not make any attempt to hook up with her (I'm sorry, I don't know about anybody else, but a shower, bath, and tooth brushing do not cancel out the mental image I was forced to endure that evening).

By this time it was close to 4 AM, and I was exhausted. I called into work the next day requesting that I could show up a little late, citing a house emergency, and in typical fashion Monica obliged given that I tell the story in great detail later that day. And as you can all be assured, I most certainly did.

So, have I ever decided to boot and rally? Well, sure I have. But I was given a very rare opportunity that night, the opportunity to "Boots and rally," and my outlook on that one is most assuredly that no amount of mouthwash, or even a bath tub full of toothpaste for that matter, will ever wash away the mental image of margarita mix painting a crazy girl's face.