Yesterday I got out of work in a great mood due to the fact that I was starting my five day weekend. What made me even more happy was the fact that I was out early and long overdue for a good day drink. A good friend of mine, *Ike, had told me he was “penthouse sitting” for a friend in the Back Bay for a few days (like house sitting, but in a Back Bay penthouse…yeah). I’ve been slightly sick this week, but when he invited me over I thought to myself, “I might never get the chance to be a faux Real Housewife of the Back Bay again, carpe fucking diem, Mollz”. So naturally, I booked it over to this penthouse with my besty, *Messica (Mess for short), and like any host with the most, Ike had drinks waiting for us when we got up to the top floor. Ike gave us a tour up to the penthouse roof deck that overlooked the Prudential: …and then we made our way into the living room, where I was afraid to walk with my beat up Uggs on. We had more drinks and just chatted, Ike always has the most amazing and hilarious stories, so we were pretty entertained by our penthouse host…
At some point we started talking about hangovers, and we had to agree with Ike when he said that the WORST kind of hangover is “the delayed hangover”. The delayed hangover is one of those hangovers that creep up on you late morning-afternoonish. It’s like, you wake up and the few first minutes of your day is spent deciding whether or not you are hungover or not. You don’t feel like projectile vomiting, so that’s good. You are craving Egg & I, and it pisses you off that it no longer exists, which is a normal/non-hungover appetite. You aren’t sweating profusely, there is no McDonald’s wrappers next to your bed, and you can open your eyes without your brain feeling like it’s being stabbed with multiple sporks. It’s pretty much safe to say that you are in the clear. You think to yourself, “You go, girl! Tolerance of steel! You’ve got the world by the balls! Get out there and do something productive, you champion!”. So you begin your day.
At first, your morning goes smoothly, you shower, make yourself a cup of coffee, upload some Easy E onto your Ipod, brag on your Facebook status that you’re not hungover, then your friend calls you to invite you to lunch. Perfect. She gets to your house, beeps and you head out into the world. Your first thought is, “Shit, didn’t realize it was THIS sunny outside, too bad I sat on my cheap knockoff sunglasses from the cart at the South Shore Plaza and they cracked. Guess that’s what I get for being a cheap shmuck.” You run back inside and steal your sister’s shades and a baseball hat. You are already starting to get that “under the weather” look. Kind of like this:
So you hop in your friend’s car and brag some more about not being hungover what so ever, and you mutually decide you are craving something greasy and disgusting that will make you loathe yourself after consumption. Your friend turns in the direction of wherever you decide to go and your stomach does a flip flop. Your friend is driving like an animal, completely her fault…douchebag. You should have driven, she’s probably still drunk from the night before. Then you hit a red light, and the car is completely stopped. Your stomach does yet another flip flop, and then ten more. And your friend who thinks she is Jeff Gordon, (or maybe she doesn’t, you just can’t accept your current state) opens the sun roof. The sun starts beating down on your pale, Irish skin, making you sweaty. You grab your bottle of water and chug it real quick. Why does this Poland Springs taste EXACTLY the same as the sugar free Red Bull and vodka you had last night?! Is this a sick joke?! Or could it be, that your appetite is ruined, causing everything to taste like the alcoholic beverages you consumed the night before? Before you can answer that question, you are rolling down the window of your friend’s vehicle, head outside far enough to be decapitated by oncoming traffic, puking on Quincy Shore Drive. When you are finished puking your guts up, you push the seat back and fall backwards, you’ve never been so tired. You feel like shit.
The lunch date is off. You blew it. Your friend drives you home, where you collapse in the bathroom and remain violently ill for another half hour before pulling the shades down in your room and sleeping from noon to 5pm, since 5 hours is the universal time it takes for learning one’s lesson, then sleeping off the learned lesson, and beginning to prepare to repeat the same mistake again the next evening. Hence the saying, “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere’…or maybe I just made that up right now. Who really even knows. Some advice I have for you to avoid a delayed hangover is to chug water and eat something before you go to bed, then when you wake up, test yourself physically for a hangover. You can do this by doing some jumping jacks, or running up and down stairs or something. If you puke, you’re either hungover or REALLY out of shape. If you don’t you’re good to go on with your day, and maybe even repeat the night before (hopefully you were in a penthouse the night before). Whether you are hungover or not the next day, good luck!
*Names changed to protect the awesome.
(Thank you to Ike- my Because Molly Said So manager and funniest friend in the world; Messica- for letting me use her in my dumbass stories all the time with such a stupid code name; and to MW: Sorry for puking in your new car on Quincy Shore Drive, I had a delayed hangover, you’re an excellent driver & the opposite of a douchebag.)