I Drank Too Much And This Is What Happened (My NYC Disaster)

I sat in gate D5 at the LaGuardia airport in New York City with tears steaming down my face. I was hours early for my flight back to Chicago.

My mouth had the aftertaste of vomit, which I tried to hide by chewing gum. I took small and slow sips from a Sprite bottle, hoping that it’d make me feel better and the nauseating, hung over feeling would stop.

I’d normally go hide inside of a bathroom stall if I needed to cry. But what’s the point? No one even noticed me. No one cared. People might have glanced over at me and kept walking or turned the other way. Because no one wants to talk to the crying girl. If I were on the other side, I’d keep walking too.

It was a shameful moment - one that I regret. I left New York feeling ashamed and heartbroken. It’s these types of moments that leave you lying in bed for days after, claiming your entire year “ruined” because of one moment. It’s these types of moments where you let it take over and define you. It’s these types of moments where you start to question everything that you are.

I drank too much and this is what happened.

Pace yourself, they say. That would have been a good piece of advice to follow the night prior my NYC departure.

I had a front row seat to the Mariah Carey’s Christmas show on Tuesday December 15, 2015 – an opportunity of a lifetime, some might say. I bought the ticket right when it went on sale and then snapped an excited selfie, because that’s just the type of world we live in.

For those of you who don’t know, Mariah’s my favorite singer and I was honored to have a front row seat. I even attended two shows prior in the nosebleed section to build up the suspense of my well-deserved front row seat.

I was in NYC for four days and three of the days, my nights were scheduled with Mariah.

I hung out with my friend, Kimberly, who is also a Mariah fan and also went to all three shows with me but had a different seat. We had dinner and wine prior to the first two shows and everything was fine.

Then Tuesday rolled around - the day of my front row seat. And there was one problem. My ticket came with an open bar – meaning for an hour and half I could drink anything I wanted and as much as I wanted. And that’s when I lost all control.

I’m not exactly sure what happened but I clearly went over my drinking limit. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s never happened even in events where an open bar was provided. Because the next morning, I threw up. And that’s never happened to me before. I’ve never drunk so much that vomit was a result. I thought that was something that should have happened in my college days. Not right before leaving NYC at age 28 – seriously, WTF?

I was really excited for the show. I even wore my black dress and added a butterfly belt to it (in honor of Mariah’s butterfly era), hoping that she’d notice it from the stage.

I remember having a conversation with a French guy who also had VIP seats. He seemed really nice but that’s when I started feeling a bit dizzy. Then I remember a security guard asking me to take a seat on the steps. Everything and everyone suddenly seemed fuzzy. At some point, the security guard took me over the entrance area to have a seat there, so they could keep a better eye on me. And there I sat, unable to think clearly or stand up straight, not even realizing that I was missing the show.

“Please don’t kick me out,” I cried hysterically. “She’s my favorite singer.”

Tears streamed down my face as I tried to convince the security guard and myself that I was OK. But every time they asked me if could stand up straight, the words “oh no” crossed my mind. I thought if I was confident enough that perhaps I could trick them. You know, the whole “fake it, till you make it” motto. But I couldn’t fake it. I couldn’t even walk in a straight line.

There was one security guard in particular who stands out in my memory, probably because he was the one who talked to me the most. He smiled and said that he wasn’t going to kick me out. But I needed to calm down so the other security guards could see that I was well enough to enter the show. Another security guard checked the pulse on my wrist.

Meanwhile, I just kept repeating that Mariah’s my favorite singer. Security then asked me to go to Starbucks across the street and get coffee and come back.

So I did. I ordered a black coffee and when the Starbucks barista gave it to me, I reached out to grab it and spilled a bit of it on the counter. Then the next thing I knew, I leaned on the counter and started crying. Hysterically. Like I’d lost my best friend. The Starbucks barista gave me a concerned (and slightly scared) look and asked me if I as OK. I ignored her and kept crying.

As I sobbed, a guy named Nick approached me and asked me if I was OK. Nick was also a Mariah fan. He had a Mariah t-shirt on and a vest over it. He’s also known for hosting Mariah fan parties and recognized me from Facebook even though we hadn’t met in person yet. He was hanging out with a girl, who I met in Vegas, in Starbucks until the show was over to greet Mariah.

I explained my situation as I poured steaming hot coffee down my throat (my tongue was burnt for about three days after this coffee drink). Nick helped me calm down, gave me a hug, and complimented my boobs. (He can do that because he’s gay.)

One thing I’ve noticed about meeting Mariah fans – the real hardcore Mariah fans, the ones who call themselves lambs (a term for Mariah fans), is that there are some who try to look out for each other. And that’s what Nick did in that moment. He didn’t have to come up to me. Because I’m pretty sure everyone else in that Starbucks avoided eye contact with me. But he did. And I appreciated that.

“Of course, darling,” he said. “We are Lambily.” (*Lambily – a term for Mariah fans who stick together like family.)

I’m not sure if Nick walked me back to the Beacon Theatre or not – I’m a little fuzzy on that detail. I just remember walking back and asking the kind security guard if I could go into the show. The security guard asked me to walk to another security guard and walk back to him. This time I was a bit more confident that I could pass the test without falling over. And I think I did pass the test because the next thing I knew they took me in to my front row seat.

The show was way over half way done – so that was very disappointing. But there I was, finally in front of Mariah Carey. And then I started sobbing. Again. Uncontrollably. I’m not sure if I was crying this time because of happiness or sadness or because there was still alcohol in my system. But I cried my eyes out.

The girl next to me kept looking over at me like, “WHAT THE FUCK?!” The security guard sitting near me handed me a tissue. And someone who was sitting in the second or third row came up to me and gave me a hug. And also to squeeze his way up to the front row.

I managed to snap a few great pictures of the show with my iPhone.

Overall, the night was kind of a disaster. And if there’s one lesson learned here, it’s this: just because an open bar comes with your VIP ticket, it doesn’t mean that you should drink EVERYTHING.

But seriously, you guys, I know I sound like a spoiled brat when there are real problems going on in this world. And it’s not like this was the first time seeing Mariah in concert. This was, however, my first front row seat.

And it could have been SO MUCH worst than security just having me sit down and miss part of the show. They could have kicked me out. They could have called the ambulance and I would be stuck with a fat hospital bill (because I don’t have health insurance and that’s how America works). I could have gotten alcohol poisoning. I could have gotten really injured or sick. I could have missed the WHOLE show.

It could have been a lot worse.

I’m grateful that there were some people who did look out for me – the security guards at The Beacon Theatre, Nick, random French guy, and my friend, Kimberly, who walked me back to my accommodation after the show.

How could I have been so irresponsible? So stupid? Looking back, I was not worthy of a front row seat. Somewhere along the line and one drink too many, my morals and values got mixed up.

I think for now, I’m going to take a break from going to Mariah Carey concerts. I’m going to take some time to figure everything out and I won’t be having another alcoholic beverage anytime in the near future. Because whoever that girl was that night sitting next to security, crying and begging them to let her into the show even though she couldn’t stand up straight, I don’t ever want to be her again.

When you miss out on an opportunity of a lifetime because you drank too much, you start to question everything you are and reevaluate your life choices.

Have you ever gotten drunk at a Mariah Carey concert and missed more than half the show? No? Well, I have.