Man oh man, I used to be fuuuuunnnnnn! When I lived in New York for 10 years in my 20's, I could tie one on, then somehow get it untied and left on the tracks of the subway, find it later after it was dragged up by an industrial sized rat or mole person (that is a thing) tie it back on and keep my ass partying! Yeah!
There was this one time where I started my day with an endless mimosa brunch, followed by a wine bar in The Village, followed by...something. Then I came to at a tattoo parlour in Brooklyn not entirely sure how I'd gotten there. The tattoo artist was in the middle of telling me they wouldn't be able to work on me because I was too hammered, but I cut them off by running outside to puke in front of a cop car. Luckily they weren't in the car at the time, which cued me to pee there too. Long story short I woke up the next day around 6:00am on the front stoop of someones brown stone in The East Village clutching my purse. I could've slept for longer, but apparently I was lying on their paper, which is very rude.Went home, took a disco nap, then rocked it out the next night.
Or that time I was bartending during a lunch shift and it was slow so me and other bartender decided a little hooch wouldn't kill us and make the day go faster. And it did! And since that was such a success we thought heading to the local gay bar for two for one martinis was an even better idea! Six martinis later I was in a cab heading to my ex-boyfriends house where I still had the key. I busted in there like the Kool-Aid man to show him what he had been missing out on. In my mind I saw myself as this slinky little wild cat who would casually walk around in my tight jeans and tighter tank top. What everyone else saw was a sweaty blonde with one eye glued shut so she could walk sort of upright and in a garbled non-existent language scream at him and break a bunch of his stuff, including flipping over the couch like some sort of homeless Hulk. Not my best moment, certainly, but to my credit I barely had a headache the next day and still made it to my lunch bartending shift.
I was a pro at being wrecked, and I was a pro at recovery. Ah, to be young!
Why am I telling you this? Because three nights ago at dinner I had one glass of wine. I didn't even finish it.
I'm still hungover.
There was this one time where I started my day with an endless mimosa brunch, followed by a wine bar in The Village, followed by...something. Then I came to at a tattoo parlour in Brooklyn not entirely sure how I'd gotten there. The tattoo artist was in the middle of telling me they wouldn't be able to work on me because I was too hammered, but I cut them off by running outside to puke in front of a cop car. Luckily they weren't in the car at the time, which cued me to pee there too. Long story short I woke up the next day around 6:00am on the front stoop of someones brown stone in The East Village clutching my purse. I could've slept for longer, but apparently I was lying on their paper, which is very rude.Went home, took a disco nap, then rocked it out the next night.
Or that time I was bartending during a lunch shift and it was slow so me and other bartender decided a little hooch wouldn't kill us and make the day go faster. And it did! And since that was such a success we thought heading to the local gay bar for two for one martinis was an even better idea! Six martinis later I was in a cab heading to my ex-boyfriends house where I still had the key. I busted in there like the Kool-Aid man to show him what he had been missing out on. In my mind I saw myself as this slinky little wild cat who would casually walk around in my tight jeans and tighter tank top. What everyone else saw was a sweaty blonde with one eye glued shut so she could walk sort of upright and in a garbled non-existent language scream at him and break a bunch of his stuff, including flipping over the couch like some sort of homeless Hulk. Not my best moment, certainly, but to my credit I barely had a headache the next day and still made it to my lunch bartending shift.
I was a pro at being wrecked, and I was a pro at recovery. Ah, to be young!
Why am I telling you this? Because three nights ago at dinner I had one glass of wine. I didn't even finish it.
I'm still hungover.
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