DAY 141: Hurricane Hangover.

For the month of February I decided to take every Wednesday off. I promised myself that they would be “Productive Wednesdays,” which meant no hooking up and no sleeping in.

Today was my first P.W., and I’ve already let myself down. No, I wasn’t a whore. But I was a lazy slob who spent all day in bed. Well, it was less a matter of me being lazy, and more an issue of having one of the worst hangovers of my life.

Last night after my four gin and tonics with CrazyBlindDateBenny in Hell’s Kitchen, I took the A train down to Chelsea to meet up with Jeffrey and Jeff for more drinks. (Hey, it was on my way home to Brooklyn.) In honor of Mardi Gras, my two Jeff’s were sucking down Hurricanes, a fruity drink who’s contents are still unclear to me. (I’m afraid that if I google it, I may vomit.) The boys made me drink two.

Now, normally I’m a girl who can hold her liquor. But last night I skipped out on dinner (shame on me, I know) and I didn’t have much of a lunch either (what, swimsuit season is coming up… I have to look good!)

Needless to say, there was a Hurricane in my head when I woke up this morning, and nothing got done.

Here’s how I imagined my day to go:
Wake up
Shower
Go to local coffee shop
Blog
Rework monologues for One Person Show class
Head into the city
Buy new ink cartridge for printer
Trader Joes
Make a wonderful dinner
Project Runway night with the gang

And here’s how my day really went:
Sleep
Sleep
Wake up, want to kill myself
Sleep
Sleep
Wake up, watch Biggest Loser while laying lifeless on futon
Sleep
Sleep
Go to store to buy ginger ale (4:30pm)
Sleep
Sleep
Finally have the strength to check email
Finally have the strength to stand upright
Shower (6:30pm)
Force some food down my throat (soup and soy nuggets)
Project Runway night with the gang

Oh well, at least my day ended the way it was supposed to…

DAY 88: The Busiest Night Of The Year.

Tonight was the night that my liver has been dreading all month. It was the night of my holiday work party. And if that wasn’t reason enough to get trashed, I also had an improv show and Jeannie’s mistletoe party this evening as well.

1. HOLIDAY WORK PARTY.
Ah, the miracle of alcohol. For one night, and one night only, I am able to get sloshed and honestly believe that I like all of my co-workers. (Well, except for the two that I refuse to speak to unless it is work related and I have no choice.) This year’s party was much tamer than last year’s. (Of course, I had to leave early, so I’m sure I missed out on some juicy drama.) But even so, last year, not two hours into our party and someone was already passed out in the bathroom. This year, people were much more well behaved. That’s probably because we didn’t start off the night with tequila shots. We did however have an open bar from 6-10, which I took full advantage of. I had a shot of Jagger, a glass of Shiraz, and I’m guessing 6 G&T’s, but I lost count somewhere along my drunken way. At 9:30, upon departing, I was hugging and kissing my co-workers good-bye… a sure sign that I had too much to drink. I got on the L train and made my way over to the East Village. This year, I was thankfully sober enough to stay conscious on the subway. Last year I woke up at the last stop in Canarsie at 3:30 in the morning.

2. IMPROV SHOW.
Sometimes, I clearly don’t know when enough is enough. Normally when I do a show I like to partake in a little pre-show drinking. It’s sort of like a warm-up, to loosen me up a bit. Blocking out how drunk I already was, I decided to split a six-pack of Stella with Beta. Our show actually went pretty well and I don’t think I slurred any of my words. But I will have to confirm that with my teammates the next time I see them. It’s all still a little fuzzy to me.

3. JEANNE’S MISTELTOE PARTY.


Sometimes, I do know when enough is enough. The non-alcoholic part of my brain took control and didn’t allow myself to drink anything at Jeannie’s party. (In retrospect, I probably should have had some water, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.) Instead of drinking, I just played the tamborine to keep myself awake. Thankfully, I didn’t end up like this lesbian did:

Yes, I know it’s bitchy. But I’m sorry, if anyone falls asleep at a party, I’m gonna take pictures.

DAY 37: (re)Tardiness.

I’ve been late to work every day this week. And not just 5 or 10 minutes. 20 is my minimum. Yesterday, it was almost an hour. Partially, I blame my job for being so lax about it. And partially I blame my brain for tricking myself into believing that even though I moved further out and I have to take two trains to work now, my commute isn’t any longer.

Tonight I went to go cheer on my teammates the Halster and RoboRob as they performed as stereotypes (college activist girl and Scottish lad, respectively) against a team of mentally retarded characters in the UCB’s “Offensive Fest” Cagematch. I was slightly disappointed in the retard team because A.) Only one person was wearing a helmet. B.) No one drooled on stage. C.) No one dressed as this.

After the stereotypes kicked some retard ass, we all went out to ye ol’ comedy bar for a post show drink… which does not bode well for me getting to work on time in the morning, especially as the hour of 3am quickly approaches. And tomorrow night I have a show, which I know we’ll all go out after, which does not bode well for me getting to work in a timely fashion Saturday morning.

I guess it would help if I ever stayed at work late, to make up for the hours that I missed. But honestly, I have a hard time staying at work until 6:30, when I’m actually scheduled to leave.

Seriously, why does work have to get in the way of everything?

God, if you’re out there and you’re listening to my prayers (or reading my blog) tonight, please make me rich so I don’t ever have to work again.

Amen and good night.

DAY 19: Getting Older = Liver Starting to Fail.

Oooooooh, Momma had waaaayyyyy too much to drink at Gayme Night last night and paid dearly for it today. I seriously spent the entire day in bed.

The only time I left my bed was to:

1. Go to the bathroom.
2. Go to the bathroom again.
3. Shower, in hopes that I would come out felling refreshed. (Didn’t happen.)
4. Start laundry. (This took lots of concentration.)
5. Force myself to eat an english muffin with egg, cheese and bacon, hoping that the grease would settle my stomach. (Didn’t happen.)
5. Go to the bathroom again.
6. Go to the corner store to buy more toilet paper.
7. Finish laundry.

Finally around 5ish, I joined the world of the living by forcing myself to eat some mac & cheese and shower again. Afterwards, I felt much better. Which is good, because I had an improv show to (mediocrely) perform in tonight.

And although I had already more than met my liquor quota for the weekend, I still managed to throw back a few at the show. What? There was a two drink minimum!