Buffy thinks beer bad, but I can one-up her: Vodka bad — especially when you drink a third of a bottle each, dance around like drunken Spice Girls, and before all of that have fried dough with the most acidic sauce to ever touch the human stomach.
"Beer bad."
Vodka baaaaad.
But before the throwing up* and the hangover in the morning? Vodka was my best friend. Sandy and I mixed it with Crystal Light Raspberry Lemonade — which, if you know me, is my crack — and drank it down in these huge wine goblets of hers. At one point, we ended up laying on her living room floor, laughing at the most hilarious picture of Tiger Woods and, in general, a whole lot of nothing.
When I woke up, though, I felt that dull thudding you feel when you’re about to get slammed with a major headache. Vodka? Give me a headache? What dimension is this?! I have to remind myself, though, that the last time I had vodka — and probably more vodka than this — was in high school when I was dating Asshole Sean (the other Sean is my good friend). A.S. loved to drink vodka and smoke. We got fucked up many a time on straight vodka and weed, but Friday night, Sandy and I were absolutely hammered.
One 800mg ibuprofen and lots of water later, I was back at my house, cooking some ramen and getting ready to eat. I was starving and Sandy had recommended I eat something light. Ramen is light, I told myself. I eat ramen all of the time when I’m sick. Yeah — sick with a cold!
I didn’t get past five bites. I felt so shitty, I left my barely-touched bowl and the pan with still more ramen in it right there in the kitchen, which is not normal for this Virgo. I laid down on my parents’ bed and watched Discovery Channel with my mom until my stomach finally stopped fighting it, and I had to go bow down before my toilet. I’ve come to realize that I am going to be one miserable preggo, since I absofuckinglutely hate throwing up.
I felt a lot better after, though, and was able to clean up my mess. All I wanted to do was go to bed, but I had to go with Dad to pick up Ellie, who was still up at Mark’s because Dad had replaced her transmission fluid pan the day before.
Let me tell you, there is nothing worse than Driving While Hungover. The mere motion of the road, and every little bump, sends your stomach on an angry rampage, that little intestine hell bent on making you throw up again. I chomped hard on my gum. I am not gonna throw up (again), I am not gonna throw up (again), I thought every time we hit a bump or had to stop at a light.
“You gonna be okay? You don’t look too good. You look like you’re gonna be sick again,” Dad said, not even trying to cover the wicked smile on his face.
“Ugh,” I said, and turned away, my head resting on my hand.
“You want a beer?”
“Uggghh,” was all I could say.
And then he decided to take a shortcut. A very bumpy and hilly and whoosh-y shortcut. A very, “Hello, my name is stomach, and I am definitely going to deliver you another present now” shortcut. I chewed that piece of gum to death and squeezed my eyes shut, and suddenly, we were at Mark’s.
“You gonna be able to drive home?” Dad asked.
“Mmn,” I said. “If someone hadn’t taken such a bumpy shortcut…”
“Bumps have nothing to do with how you’re feeling,” he said. Translation: Suck it up. But he did get out of his truck, unlock my car, and roll down my windows for me so that Ellie wouldn’t be unbearably hot when I got in.
“Thanks,” I said, and hopped out of his truck and practically crawled into my car.
For some reason, I felt less dizzy when driving myself. I still felt like death in an automobile, but at least the motion of the road wasn’t sending my stomach into twisty tangles. I managed to get home without throwing up, falling asleep, or crashing. Of course, when I got home, I had to hang around while Dad checked Ellie’s transmission fluid level — which was good at the time, so we’ll see if this does the trick. As soon as we were done, I shut off the engine, rolled up my windows, trudged up the stairs, and fell into bed.
I’m never Driving While Hungover again.
*I strongly prefer the term “throwing up,” because other terms for the same action sound exactly like the action, and since I hate said action, I use the most gentle phrasing to protect my poor little mind.
oh god, i feel for you. i hate throwing up so much that the thought of it sends me into an anxiety tailspin. drinking freaks me out precisely because of the possibility of throwing up afterwards! anyway. hope you feel better. <3
This is only the second time I’ve ever thrown up because of drinking. Usually, I don’t drink so much so fast. Both times that was my problem: too much, too fast. I think I’ll be slowing it down from here on out.
It wasn’t too bad a hangover, though, compared to different stories I’ve heard. I definitely don’t want one ever again, though!
The “hello my name is stomach…” line – brilliant! As for hangovers: vodka hangover is terrible but it’s relatively fine; the worst hangover is when you mix so many alcohols that you don’t even remember what you drunk. I had a flatmate whose boyfriend was travelling a lot across Europe and from each trip he’d bring a different kind of alcohol. So they had everything, from absinth to Slovakian 50% vodka. And one day, when the boyfriend was gone, she decided that it’s perfect night for drinking. So we drunk almost every single kind. The next day was – hell. the deepest circle of hell. Trust me. There wasn’t a possibility of driving because I wasn’t able to crawl out of my bed. When I finally DID crawl out of bed I only made it to the bathroom where I was throwing up for what seemed like an eternity.
Too much detail, I know
Hahaha, duly noted!
Is it wrong that I’m ready for vodka again?
Hah! Dirty vodka lol.
Matt and I polished off a bottle of wine, and then a bottle of hypnotic shots on our honeymoon within 2 hours WHILE in the hot tub…
It was awesome.
Until the room started spinning. haha!
That is awesome… minus the room spinning part! The room spun for me that Friday night, too, which has never happened to me before. I’d like to stick to getting just below that drunk, hahaha!