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Guys, I have a problem. Recently (several minutes ago), I read a column on this very site that offended me to my core. Noted PGP contributor, Cush, published a hangover-shaming column, and I fear I’m being directly attacked. The article was the most articulate and well written form of bullying I have ever received, but it was bullying nonetheless, and I will not stand for it.
I’m a red-blooded American, goddamn it, and no one is going to rob me of my right to non-stop bitch about my hangovers. I got a gentleman’s C- in US History in high school, but I’m pretty sure that’s covered under one of the amendments. This past Saturday I lost control of a double date and ended up closing down a bar with my girlfriend, my roommate, and his girlfriend. The next morning, when I (predictably) woke up feeling like Luke Kuechly after a game day, the very first thing I did was get on my phone and start firing off texts.
“Duuude. Why did we drink tequila shots at 2am. I feel like death.”
Sent to my roommate because I was too lazy/tired to yell down the hall.
“I’m never drinking again. It’s real this time.”
Sent to my group chat of high school friends who, due to the time difference, didn’t respond for two more hours.
“No chance I’m making it to brunch today. Leave me for dead. Go on without me.”
Sent to my friends’ who knew full well I was going to make it to brunch.
Sure, those texts might be annoying, but you know what? I don’t give a shit. Complaining about how hungover you are is the only thing that can help alleviate the pain of said hangover, and despite Cush’s harsh words, I will never stop doing it. On Sunday mornings, the second I arise and realize how bad I feel, I immediately wake my girlfriend up to complain about it. Does she hate it? Yes. Will she likely leave me because of it? Perhaps. But that won’t stop me. Complaining is the only thing that will keep me alive, and I don’t care how it affects anyone else.
For those who think everyone bitching about their hangover is only doing so to brag about their alcohol intake, I say you’re wrong. I’m not in high school. If anything, I’m trying to convince my friends (and family) that I drink less than I do. The last thing I need is another talk from my mom asking, “how long I’m going to keep acting like I’m in college.”
Truly, the reasons I’m going to keep whining about how bad I feel the morning after drinking is simple. For one, misery loves company. My friends, like me, are degenerates, and if I feel like shit, there’s a good change they’re right there with me. When we all feel like shit, none of us feel like shit. We can bond over the misery. Team up against the headaches, nausea, and spins. We can reassure ourselves that we’re not alcoholics for binge drinking for the 11th weekend in a row. Or at least, we can reassure ourselves that we’re not the only alcoholics that binge drank for the 11th weekend in a row.
This leads me to the second and more important reason for the complaints. I’m trying to confirm that I still have friends, and that those friends still like me. My hangovers don’t just manifest in the physical form, they bring with them a deep sense of dread and anxiety, most notably on Sundays. The Sunday Scaries, if you will. It may seem like I’m just texting my friends to complain about the hangover I knew I was going to have, but in reality, I’m just trying to quiet the voice in the back of my aching skull.
You know the one. The one that tells you that your friends don’t even like you, they just put up with you. That your parents are disappointed in you. That you somehow ruined every relationship you’ve ever had during your blackout the night before. The only way to defeat this anxiety is with friendship, and the best way to test the waters on said friendship is to bitch about my hangover.
If I get a “Dude, same. What happened last night?” I know I’m in the clear. If I get a “I’m not surprised, you were fucked up last night,” I know that I may have to offer some vague apologies. If I get a “Well you deserve it after last night. We should probably meet up and talk.” I know that it’s time to block that number and change my name. No friendship is worth me having to hear about exactly what I did wrong last night while fighting off a class-five hangover.
So, to Cush and all the other hangover-shamers out there, I say this. You’ll never get me to stop. I will text, call, and even FaceTime you, forcing you to see my bleary eyes and swollen face at 9am on a Sunday. I’ll stop complaining about my hangovers when I stop drinking, and we both know that’s never going to happen.
Talk to you this weekend..