Back in the early 2000’s I used to party a lot. I would regularly hit the clubs Friday and Saturday night. On occasion I would also go Thursday nights as that was “ladies night” in many places. However, as I usually worked on Fridays, that was rare.
Back in those days, I was really timid about dancing in public. As such, alcohol was a regular part of my clubbing repertoire, lots of alcohol. I didn’t know the difference between being a little buzzed, drunk, or how long it takes for alcohol to take effect. So I would down mixed drinks until I was very obviously drunk.
By that point, I had already drank way too much. I just needed to allow time for the alcohol to take effect, but instead of waiting, I’d just down more and more alcohol until my inhibitions were completely gone. I’d down my drink, your drink, any drink that was sitting around, I’d drink it all. In hindsight, this grosses me out, but yeah, I did that.
As you can imagine, this would lead to really nasty hangovers the next morning. Hell, as I got older, the hangovers started to happen that night. As I got even older, the hangovers started to happen at the party itself. My tolerance and ability to eliminate alcohol became weaker and weaker. Nowadays, I don’t drink at all. Ever. There’s no need to do it anymore as I realized that I don’t need alcohol to do the things I enjoy. I’m still timid, but the consequences are not worth the pain anymore. I do everything sober.
So on to the main point of this piece. This came to me last night as I laid in bed, no idea why really, but I just remember it. After a night of clubbing at Webster Hall, (usually) I would go the deli on 3rd avenue, I’d buy a turkey, swiss, lettuce, tomato on whole wheat bread sandwich. I’d pick up at least two bottles of gatorade and down them with the sandwich. By the time I got home, I would pop two nighttime advils and drink a ton of water. If I was just normal drunk, this was enough to avoid a terrible hangover and I’d sleep through the worse of it. By the time I woke up, I was generally sobering up. I’d likely have a headache and feel like crap, but I’d be on the road to recovery.
If I was severely wasted though, this approach would not work. On those nights when I really over did it, I’d spend hours kneeling before the porcelain God. Everything I ate and drank would be discarded into its holy bowl of capture. I’d continue kneeling all night, only rising to ingest water (once I started dry heaving) which would then be used to eject the remaining alcohol that was destroying my body.
By the way, that water mixed with alcohol and your stomach juices is one of the nastiest things you could ever taste! I’d be forced to stay up and repeat this loop over and over until most of the poison was out of me. It truly was hell! I’d then swear to never drink that much again, only to do it again the following weekend. We never learned, did we?
So, can you relate? How did you cope with your hangovers?
Just a life long New Yorker sharing the journey through my lens. Please take note of a post’s date. The views I express here are subject to change and evolving as I grow and learn.