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Last Friday, started out with a bold proclamation – I would not be going out that evening. The pollen count in my neck of the woods has been particularly high this year and my sinuses have been absolutely ravaged. These allergies, and a rather expensive steak dinner on Wednesday night left me feeling bloated and light in the wallet. I arrived home at 4:30 p.m. carrying a six pack of craft beer. My plan for the evening was simple – watch some playoff hockey, drink a few beers, and be asleep by midnight at the latest.
It wasn’t that I had a particularly grueling Saturday in front of me, but I figured a Friday night without spending money at a bar would be good for me. I knew that all three of my roommates were going to live shows on Friday night and I wouldn’t feel any peer pressure to go out. They’d be gone for the majority of the evening, and I had nothing to do but sit on my couch alone and eat a homemade turkey sandwich with a side of Ruffles All-Dressed potato chips.
The night was going according to plan until everyone started to trickle back into the house around 10:30 p.m. with vodka, whiskey, and more beer. What had initially started out as a quiet night in soon devolved into an impromptu house party, with grandiose plans of hitting a few bars a couple of blocks away from my living room.
This sort of thing frequently happens after leaving a live music venue. Everyone is in groups of 7-10 people, and one person will volunteer their home as a destination until something more concrete can be figured out. By 11:15, there were 15 to 20 people in the living room and I had no choice but to retreat back to my room and change out of my mustard stained sweatpants and into something more formal – jeans, Birkenstocks with woolies, and a bone white women’s blouse I had found on sale at Uniqlo. Incredible outfit, trust me on this one.
My three craft beers that I had consumed turned into four. Then five. And then I found myself with a vodka-soda in front of me and thinking that maybe going out wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Before I knew it, I was at a bar ignoring requests for personalized drinks and just getting everyone in my group a rail vodka-soda.
My night, which was supposed to end with me sleeping in bed at midnight, was now approaching three in the morning. Saturday turned into a disgusting display of self-pity. I rolled around in bed moaning until 11:00 a.m. which is unheard of for me. I haven’t stayed in bed that long in years.
My hangover was so bad I considered making myself throw up because I’ve heard that this is sometimes an effective way to get rid of one. Late in the afternoon, I was convinced that the only way to get rid of this hangover was to go back out and start drinking again.
This is a short-term solution. I eventually did end up getting drunk again, and because I apparently cannot say no, I got convinced by the same people from Friday night to go to a few more bars. Sunday morning, I legitimately thought I was going to die.
Going out two days in a row is no longer feasible. It just isn’t. I sweat through my bed sheets last night trying to fall asleep with the air conditioning on and a fan going. I’m sitting here on Monday afternoon with a hangover from Saturday night. You want to see abject defeat? Look no further. Stick a fork in me because I am done. I’m available for one night only going forward. Somebody kill me please. .