In my entire life, I've only thrown up twice from drinking. The first instance took place in the Bahamas with my friends Jake Frittola and Nick Caldari (coincidentally, I wrote about Jake vomiting from drinking too much here). Back to the story–I drank too much as evidenced by me trying to haggle with the Uber driver on the way home from the bar.
Around 3am, in response to an impending hurl rising it the pit of my belly, I rose from my bed and wandered to the bathroom in the dark. It's important to mention here that we were all in Jake's family's house and his mom and dad were sleeping in the bedroom down the hall from the bathroom that currently housed a sick, on-his-knees Dylan. In an effort to hide the embarrassing sound of me baby birding my dinner into the toilet, I turned on the shower. Unfortunately, it's right at this moment that Jake's dad, a large, intimidating Italian man who has often been rumored to work for the mob due to his long-standing job as a "New York City sanitation worker" who "takes out the trash" for a living", feels an urge to pee. Him and I are the only ones in the house awake, but that changes quickly once he bellows "who the fuck is taking a shower at 3am?!". Overall, I'd say my ruse worked to perfection.
Anyway, all that is to say that in Lisbon I accidentally slept in until about 3pm, then ate a super heavy late lunch of Indian food at 4pm before remembering I had signed up for my hostel's famous "Mama's Dinner" at 6pm. Out of respect for Mama, the incredibly sweet mother of the hostel owners who quit her job over 20 years ago to cook a three-course meal for 25 people every night, I ate the second dinner. Due to these back-to-back dinners, I felt like my stomach was literally going to burst and almost decided to make myself throw up to stop the pain. I didn't end up doing that. But don't worry, if I did I would've made sure to turn the shower on first.
