N was the live souvenir boyfriend I brought home with me from studying abroad in Australia. He visited me at college for a month, one week of which was during my Spring Break. We went to visit my family in Buffalo so he could see Niagara Falls for the first time, and meet some of the fam. After a few days in Buffalo, we drove to Boston for some more site seeing, and stayed with one of my friends from school. The plan was to drive back to my parents' house in New Jersey on the 16th so we would be able to go into the city for the St. Paddy's parade the next day. Unfortunately, as we left Massachusetts and entered Connecticut, a huge snow storm hit.
While I already wasn't the best driver in clear conditions, I still insisted on driving my car. N (a mechanic, mind you) asked me several times if I wanted him to drive, but I argued that I was the better candidate since he'd never driven in snow at all. We drove by several accidents along the highway, and were going about 15 mph for several miles. N even snapped a few photos as we passed some of the mangled cars, and I warned him that it was bad karma. Suddenly, despite my grandma speed, I lost control of the car, and could not stop it from crashing into the guard rail. We were ok, and got out of the car to survey the damage. N's mechanical skills were a godsend at this moment, and he changed the tire in the middle of the snow storm with no gloves. We made our way to a repair shop nearby from the direction of the police officer who helped us. My tires had gone bald, and were in no condition to attempt to prevent this accident. Although the exterior looked like a dinosaur picked up my Civic and taken a bit out of the front, driver-side corner, it was fully functioning. We replaced the tires, and drove the car to my school in CT. From there, we took the train back to my parents' house.
A bit shaken from the events, we arrived safely at my parents' house in NJ, and while my parents were not happy to hear about the accident, they were thankful we were both fine. Still determined to celebrate St. Patrick, and with road sodas in hand, we joined my friends the next morning on an early train to the city to participate in the festivities. All day we drank our way from bar to bar, meeting up with my friend K's friends from college as well. At one point, K's boyfriend turned to me, and said, "yo, did N piss his pants?" I glanced over, and sure enough, N had peed in his pants. This probably should have embarrassed me more than it did at the time, but N seemed less concerned than I was about the situation, so we carried on celebrating.
By the time we all got back to Penn Station to head home, we were all incredibly intoxicated. N was in really bad shape, and I let him pass out on my lap on the ride home. Much of our entourage also dozed off in the seats near ours. Convinced N was going to puke at some point, I had a plastic bag in tote. Nature called, so I left N with the plastic bag before searching the train for the nearest bathroom. My friend Joey told me when I returned that N puked in my bag. Assuming he meant the plastic bag that I left with N, I sat down next to him in our seat to deal with the damage. That's when I realized that N spewed his car-bomb-jack-and-coke-and-pizza vomit into my pocketbook instead of the plastic bag. I planned to toss the whole thing, but first, I fished out my wallet along with his passport, since we both needed our I.D.'s.
Karma certainly did a number on both of us in those few days, but being the great boyfriend he was, N made up for his drunken mess by buying me a designer bag I wanted, and treating me to dinner at my favorite restaurant. Ahhh, young love.
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