Hangover Bitchslap

I’d like to revisit my frenemy alcohol in a post about the joys of a hangover.  Have you ever had a really bad one?  I don’t mean that time you had a very minor tummy ache in the night, I mean a raging, mean hangover.  Here’s you (or me):

So you’re lying in bed, sound asleep.  Sound the fuck asleep, at least that’s what you’d tell your friends if this was the kind of story that you’d gossip about later. I can hear it now in your head…I was SOUND the fuck asleep!  Really though, you were lying there twitching and tossing and turning because you were in some kind of dehydrated fever dream where your mind gets so overheated and crazy that it keeps playing back the same dream sequence over and over again until you want to scream.

And then suddenly, out of the blue, while you were so soundly asleep, minding your own business, it feels like someone kicked the shit out of your calf muscle until it’s this burning, squeezing, clenched up agony and you jerk awake.  What the…!? Your peel open your heavy heavy eyelids and squint into the night, head pounding.  And that’s when you see it… standing next to your bed, grinning maniacally.  It’s your old friend alcohol, who you swear, swear on your grandmother’s grave, you left downstairs or at the bar or at that friend’s house you hate but hang out with anyway, but alas no, there he is standing there by your bed.

And that’s when he does it, while your calf muscle is spasming in agony and you’re drooling all over your pillow and your eyes are barely open because you’re basically still drunk and the room is spinning and the bile is rising and your head is like a bass beat. Ba Boom! With an evil laugh, he bitchslaps the shit out of you and then karate chops you in the stomach, causing the worst stomach pain you have ever felt, cramping, probably internal bleeding and more until a bathroom visit cannot be denied and you struggle out of bed holding back your lunch from the day before. And all the while that bastard is laughing “Pay for it!  Pay for it!!!!!  Pay for it you lousy mo’fo!!” and you want to cry like a little baby.

That my friends is a truly horrific hangover brought to you by your local vodka, tequila, rum, beer or wine.  Or any mixture of these lovely concoctions shaken, not stirred in your poor poor stomach.  I won’t even go into what happens once you’re in the bathroom, you can imagine that part on your own.  And don’t give me this shit about how so and so held your hair or passed you the TP, that is just bullshit and I won’t buy it, even in fiction.  This is the kind of shit so horrific no other human being should have to witness it because otherwise you will instantly, like a clap of thunder, die of embarrassment and “so and so” will die for other reasons.

Now the next day you’ll still feel like hell and frequent bathroom trips may or may not still be on your agenda.  If they are, heaven help you friend, you had a shit ton to drink.  If not, the worst has passed, maybe.  If you also happen to suffer from panic attacks, anxiety and depression, the fun has only just begun. You can basically prepare yourself for an incredible amount of self-loathing, guilt, name calling, a play back of all the stupid shit you did while drunk, lots of obsessive thoughts that question your decision making abilities once even one ounce of alcohol has passed your lips, fear of leaving the house in case your friend comes back to bitch slap you again and of course, just a general shitty, jittery, out of body feeling that won’t go away.

It sounds like fun eh?  And if you’re lucky enough you can have asshole friends who drank just as much as you and yet somehow are all chipper and happy the morning after. Those bastards!  They’ll be up-and-at-um and will want to go to “breakfast” out.  Which we all know in your condition is not the best place for you to be even though you are salivating about the idea of bacon and sausage and lovely beautiful grease passing your drooling lips.

However since you usually cave to massive peer pressure in the form of having to listen to your friend’s whiny voice while your head is still pounding with a massive headache, you reluctantly agree and make a quick trip to the bathroom in the hopes that it will be your last.  Maybe, maybe not.   Then…all hell breaks loose because you agreed to leave the house with all your conditions still present.  Hungover, a hyped up panic and anxiety freak, depressed beyond measure and in the car with your friend (and that other friend alcohol or the ghost of alcohol).  IN THE CAR.  That’s when the stomach gurgling comes back and you flush red hot and the world spins and your heart is slamming and you are experiencing the WORST PANIC ATTACK EVERRRRR!!!!!  And it’s even worse because your body already feels like shit and you’re incredibly insanely dehydrated and there’s no bathroom in the car and and and.  Who decided there’s no bathroom in a car?  Lame, right?

Anyway, you get my point.  It’s not fun to be hungover and panicked.  If you make it there without dying, you will basically be jittering in your seat, teeth clacking, at the restaurant like you’re dying of consumption or something, with a sheen of sweat covering your forehead trying to slurp scrambled eggs through your raw throat and into your still very angry, rageful stomach.  Good luck with that!  The other thing is that frequent hangovers seem to make me anxious for DAYS and DAYS.  Afterward.  Like it wasn’t enough that alcohol severely punished the shit out of you, quite literally, oh no!  Alcohol is your friend for days afterward while you are still jittery, still dehydrated, still having fever dreams, still anxious as fuck.  YEA!!!!

So there you have it, round 2 with your old friend alki.  He’s a real keeper.  I’m really not sure why you continue to let him do this to you?  It’s an abusive relationship that should be reported directly to some kind of services program.  I mean really, if your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend bitch slapped you like that in the middle of the night or was cutting a bitch in the stomach continuously you would not stand for it.  However, alcohol, he’s such a good time, you’ll allow it.  It’s like that date that goes horribly horribly wrong.  Everything was cool, we had so much fun!  We danced on tables, we danced sexy (at least we thought so! Screw you!), we made new friends, we yelled loudly across the bar, we made inappropriate jokes.  It was AWESOME!!  But then after amazing and maybe slightly rough drunk wild sex (the best part of the night) you wake up with his/her knee in your throat and he/she keeps kicking your calf really really hard and then he/she KARATE chops you in the stomach until you puke.  BASTARD!!!  Second date?  Hell yesssssss!!!

Related Posts:The Truth About My Friend Alcohol