Fuck is wrong with me?

So at first, Phil and I were in a club/bar/possible casino, ordering shot after shot and getting chased and yelled at by an angry bartender and various other staff. They were refusing to give us more drinks, and presumably trying to kick us out. I somehow weaseled my way behind the bar however, and disguised my voice, convincing the same bartender to prepare me two shots, which I promptly carried with me to the circular table that Phil was sitting at with a few other, inconsequential people.

We drank them, and they tasted like cake. Then Phil got out his brief case or laptop, not quite sure, and we continued with some project that I don't remember starting, but knew we had previously done work on it.

Apparently, the business we were working with was pretty much disabled by a computer virus infection, and we were calling office after office, on one of those brick cell phones from maybe early nineties or even late eighties... without being able to communicate this disaster, because, of course, everyone spoke some Asian dialect, with thick accents.

Anyway, we left our table, stumbling until we left the room, then became instantly sober as I recall, and found ourselves in a hallway lined with office and reception rooms. We stopped at several doors for assistance, but again and again... Asians.

Finally, a timid, but helpful-looking and cute (still Asian) girl, about our age, asked what we needed assistance with, and when we quickly explained our situation, she apologized in broken English, and I was looking her in the eye when she gave a very quick, mixed expression directly to me. No smile or frown, it was all in the eyes. It was of frustration, with just a hint of anger or disgust, but also a calming look, but even felt like a look of desperation and it seemed to be meant to be confusing. I read it as her blowing us off, unable to explain her end of the conversation, or perhaps even unable to understand our end. Then she turned, walking out the end of the hallway, mumbling something that was not at all our language. I realized just then that everyone we'd spoken with, over the phone, in the offices, etc. in regards to our dilemma, was giving us the same response, because I recognized the phonetic pattern in the last sentence she said. It was something like, "jo-ways justy ill-et..."

...This phrase circled in my thoughts for awhile, over and over, it felt like five minutes that it just processed, but it all happened in an instant, because she barely got one foot out the door, and had never stopped moving. I stopped her from exiting the door and pleaded that she explain herself in English, to which she looked me in the eye, repeated herself with the same identical expression in her eye. "Jo-ways justy ill-et," she again said, then shrugged, silently indicating something to the effect of "ya know," and said, "don't worry. It's just the internet."

At the same time I understood and didn't at all, and felt one of my very favorite emotions (from waking life, I can only explain it as epiphany realization) and I just said, "you know, you're fuckin' cute when you're angry," ... I grabbed her, and kissed her. It lasted maybe a minute or only thirty seconds. Time flew, and it was infinitely awkward, while still inviting and enjoyable. During this time, my problems seemed to be solved, and all other worries went elsewhere. The room was spinning, and all the walls, and people, including Phil, who was last seen right behind me, flew off into their respective three dimensional distances. She was definitely kissing back from the beginning, but in the end we both suddenly pulled back and vomited.

I woke up.