Nov 17, 2008 -Scott, I really don't want to see you naked! Please come out. -Mmmh imz hmmm anj iciciclllllle. - I'm not going to sleep until you come out, you're going to get sick! You've been in there for nearly two hours. My ear is pressed against the bathroom door, and I am trying my best to hear what he is mumbling. The genie from Aladdin is singing in the living room, while Ravi Shankar is playing his sitar in Mason's room. The clash of music and my state of mind make it harder to understand the words that stumble out of his mouth. High from the combination of "happy pills" and marijuana, I am trying to convince a guy who consumed the equivalent of 13 beers, to come out of the bathtub and throw some clothes on. It is six a.m and I ache for sleep. How did I end up in this situation? Rewind. I don't practice Santeria I ain't got no crystal ball. We sung loudly and out of tune. We chugged the last few ounces of our beers. Once the song ended, we decided to leave. If the D.J would have played another song that struck nostalgic memories, perhaps we would have stayed. If we had stayed, we wouldn’t have witnessed Scott dry heaving, his face in a flower pot hoping to puke. If we had not seen that, I wouldn’t have gone inside to get him a glass of water. If I had not gone inside, he wouldn't have vomited on my shoes right after drinking the water. If he had not vomited on my shoes, maybe the cab drivers would have given us a ride. If we had taken a taxi, we wouldn't have walked forty minutes to Sean's apartment. If we had not walked, Scott wouldn't have gotten stomach cramps. If Scott had not gotten stomach cramps, he wouldn't have demanded to take a bath. Of course, I do not regret the night's outcome. I am too nice to regret. But at six o’clock in the morning, coming down a wonderful high, I am fascinated with life's strange timing, and am toying around with alternative endings. An ending that did not include the possibility of seeing Scott naked.