This is a surprisngly accurate rendering of Boop and her day yesterday. Boop is slightly heavier, but as lily white as the female depicted here. In addition, I was forced to assume this very position no fewer than three times during the course of the day. However, I wouldn’t be me if there were anything remotely standard about my hangover.
In the first place, can I tell you how much I loathe getting old? I drank five glasses of wine while out and about Monday afternoon with Theresa and Gary. Fine, that is a lot, but I was completely done drinking after 6:30 PM. Afterward, I ate dinner, drank lots of water and felt fine enough for a spirited game of Wii bowling at my friend Brandon’s house later that evening. I am not looking for sympathy. I am well aware that most people cannot even entertain the thought of binge drinking on a Monday. Quite the contrary, I am in a spiral of self-loathing and welcome any comments that will assist in my self-flagellation.
I woke up at 8 AM Tuesday morning. I felt well enough to sweep the house, go with Theresa to breakfast, even conduct a phone interview with Preferred Hotels. I am attempting to be hired as a Marketing Communications Consultant. I felt a bit wobbly at the Golden Nugget, but vowed to push through the pain.
I had a meeting at my friend and colleague Bryan’s house, two hours spent with me being a complete waste, wanting nothing more than to curl up on his couch and go sleepy. Bryan prepared me his famous “hangover remedy,” which consists of one part honey, one part pomegranate paste, a pinch of sea salt and plenty of water. It was oddly tasty and yet, as I left for my 3:30 meeting at the StreetWise headquarters on Lake, I knew trouble, was quite literally, brewing.
I am now a member of StreetWise’s Publications Committee, a group that basically decides the editorial direction of the paper. I rang the bell, introduced myself and made a beeline for the ladies room, where I turned on the sink full blast in order to mask the sounds of my heaving. I will never eat a dark chocolate protein bar again. Surprisingly, I masked my pain well and got through the meeting, even managing to contribute a coherent thought or two.
As I began to drive him in rush hour traffic, I decided to stick to side roads. And it’s a good thing too. Because right there on Halsted St., mere blocks from my old high school, I politely pulled the car over in front of St. Vincent DePaul Center. I was quite the spectacle and began to wish in earnest that I were dead. If not because I felt horrible, then because I was keenly aware that a woman nearing 31 years of age has no business puking in public in the middle of the day.
I returned home at 6:30 and commenced dry heaving before taking an anti-nausea pill (a bit late, no?) and falling into bed. That’s right – at 6:30. I had to take an online test for the Preferred people, but thankfully it wasn’t due until 9 AM this morning.
Lessons learned? Well I’d like to think so, but my track record suggests otherwise. What a mess.