Saturday, January 27, 2007

Well Hung Over

Oh, holy shit, I'm in bad shape today.
I went out last night for the first time in a month - Since the DC smoking ban went into effect, I've been perfectly content to stay at home where the booze is finer, the music is better, the lines for the toilet are shorter, and where I don't have to go outside for a smoke.
Well, last night I went out in full force and had my ass totally handed to me. I met up with a buddy for a lunch, had some Thai food and a few Singha lagers, ran a couple of errands, then decided to catch a movie (Children of Men) before the bar opened. I hit the bar at about 5PM, and started right in on the drinkin'.
I figured that I'd only be out for a few drinks and head home early, so I abandoned my tried & true hard-drinking strategy of grabbing some food first, and sticking to Bud bottles. By drinking Bud I sacrifice some taste, but am able to accurately gauge my alcohol intake, which is handy if you're pounding 'em down. I started drinking Maredsous 10s on an empty stomach, and was pretty loaded before I even started in on the shot regiment.
7 or 8 shots and god-knows how many beers later
- It was after midnight, I was loaded, and I had been talked into heading out to Georgetown to continue drinking. Okay, It should be noted here that I HATE Georgetown with a burning passion, and haven't gone out there in over 3 years. I don't do Georgetown, but there I was pounding down high-alcohol Belgian Abbey Pub Ale in some yuppie bar. This is where I started to get feisty. I spent all of my energy between sips (and smoke breaks) trying to goad my friends into asinine socio-political arguments. It apparently worked, because I made one person cry, 2 people left, and I got a drink thrown in my face - It must have been one hell of a rant. I then decided to slam the 2 bottles of ale in front of me, get the hell out of Georgetown, and head back to the other bar. Halfway through the first bottle I got a throat full of foam, and then proceeded to vomit into my left shirt pocket and all over my cigarettes. Charming. We get kicked out of the bar, my friends go to grab some food, and I decide to call it a night and head home.
At this point, it's 3:00 in the AM, and I'm wandering through Georgetown trying to get a cab to take me to the Northern edge of the DC city limits. All I remember about this point in the night, is accidentally stumbling onto some crime-scene while trying to find a place to take a leak, and being shooed-off by the DCPD. It took 45 minutes out in the bitter cold (with approximately a dozen cabs refusing the fare) before I snagged a cab that was willing to take me up to Takoma (for the bargain-basement price of twice the regular fare).
I figured that I should eat something before passing out, so I had the cabbie drop me off at the 7-11. This is a horrible idea. Every time I'm loaded, I end up getting a couple of Spicy Jamaican Beef Patties. They're damned tasty when you're loaded (and surprisingly spicy), but will wreak havoc with your digestive tract. For some (stupid, stupid, stupid) reason I decided to only get ONE beef patty, and offset it with a 'Spicy Bite' chili dog with hot pepper relish and piled with jalapenos (damn you, condiment bar).
I got home, threw my clothes in the wash, took a shower, ate my plate of death-food, and went to sleep on the couch (to avoid the wrath of The Girl).
This morning I woke up and felt like somebody went to town on me with a Deer-E-Ere. I was hurtin' from esophagus to asshole. All day long, I've been moaning on the couch while my innards make noises usually only heard from backwoods moonshine stills.
Now, It's almost 24 hours later and I'm still wrecked. I've been pounding Mallox and Alka-Seltzer all day and my guts are still in full-revolt. I've tried everything to shake this (included an ill-advised hair-of-the-dog offensive), but am still praying for death.
Next time I go out, I'm hiring a chaperon. And, as soon as I'm able, I'm gonna slip the night clerk at the 7-11 a hundred bucks to promise never to sell me spicy food after midnight ever again. It will be money well-spent - I'm considering it 'idiot insurance', cuz I are dumb as hell.


tom o said...

sounds like you need another "Alaskan Polar Bear Heater"!

The Old Dog said...

Sounds like you need to find a White Hen Pantry. A good ol' bland samich would be much better for you.

Chris B. said...

Too bad there's no Big Ray's Silverfross anymore. A chili cheese dog with a chocolate malt and a boat load of fries used to put me on the right track.

I recommend a bottle of water and as much sleep as you can manage.

edP said...

I'm impressed that you were only "shoo-ed away" from the crime scene and not questioned as a person of interest.

That's progress