Holy Fucking Hangover, Batman.

We went to a wedding this weekend for our good friends, Jay and Court. It was a GORGEOUS wedding, but whoever told me it was a good idea to drink champagne all night at an open bar is a rat bastard.

Oh wait, pretty much everyone I saw suggested it might NOT be a good idea to drink champagne all night, and I didn't fucking listen. Whomp, whomp.

I managed to keep it together for most of the wedding, (except for when I knocked over a glass of wine all over a girl standing next to me, and at dinner when I got my camera strap wrapped around my fork and dumped beans and squash in my lap.)

The after party at a local bar was a blast, and I broke my champagne binge and switched to draft beer (another stellar decision on my part.) This is what I remember from the rest of the night:

Managed to snap a photo of Memory Flash #2.

Memory Flash 1: A SUPER tall guy gets arrested at the bar for stealing some chick's purse (K dubbed him Jolly Green Purse Snatcher)
Memory Flash 2: Somebody gets punched in the face and stabbed, so there was an ambulance and police cars. I managed to snap a photo of this:
Memory Flash 3: K and I are in the lobby of the hotel drinking beers with kids we just met. A dog shows up, her name is Molly.
Memory Flash 4: Drinking MORE beers in the hotel room.

I awoke the next morning long after the complimentary breakfast was over to the worst hangover I have EVER had. EVER.

I could barely lift my head, I opened my eyes slowly to assess my surroundings only to discover that I had spilled the red beer IN BED and slept on the puddle. Score.

The beer that I slept in a puddle of. SCORE!

The drive home was the longest of my life, and I made K do 25mph for the entire 2 hours. There was much honking and passing at and of our car, but I didn't care. We finally made it home and passed out for the rest of the day, only waking up to eat a shitload of Chinese food, watch 2 episodes of X-Files and go back to sleep.

A good time was DEFINITELY had by all.

Anger Hangover

I had a hot date with Lisa Vanderpump and the gang again tonight. This time, it was the reunion show. (I'm behind on the DVR, okay? Birthday weeks are very busy!) What really struck me though was Kyle's reaction to everything. She's a spitfire, that's for sure. She says things right off the top of her head, and she doesn't give a shit who knows it. In some ways, I envy that about her. I'm passive-aggressive by nature, and I hate conflict more than cat poop on my carpet. I'm also a people pleaser, to boot. Maybe that's why I take out all of my sarcastic aggression on my blog, where nobody can chase after me with a baseball bat.

It must feel good, to just blurt out what you're thinking. Just spit it out, no filter. To say whatever comes to mind, not care who it hurts or what kind of consequences you'll face. And while I think there are some very theraputic advantages to spouting off at the proverbial mouth, I see the remorse in Kyle's eyes for some of the things she's said. And I'm reminded once again why I am better off finding a happy medium between being a complete bitch and the rug under people's feet.

Over the years, I've had to learn to stand up for myself in more ways than one. I've been put to the test in friendships and in relationships. And while I'm not afraid to look someone in the eye and tell them what I'm really feeling, I think there is a difference between heated confrontation and tactful conversation. And for the last 26 years I've been struggling to find a balance there. What I think I need to work on is telling people how I actually feel, but in a way that doesn't give me an anger hangover the next morning, regretting things I've said (or thrown.)

But I have to say that sometimes all I really want to do is cave into my childish and self-indulgent desires and make a list of all the people and things that piss me off, write it on my facebook status in all caps with seven exclamation points and a big sad face at the end, and wait for the sympathetic comments to follow. Everyone else does it, right? Maybe there's something to it!

The Three-Day Hangover

I couldn't sleep last night. Maybe it was the nightmares of zombies after watching the season finale of The Walking Dead; maybe it was the hangover I still had from this weekend. I will tell you that one thing I've learned about being in your late twenties is that I can't put 'em back like I used to. In college, we would go out Wednesday night, Thursday night for Burgerama, Friday night to a frat party, and get up at 6am on Saturday to tailgate for the football game. (You couldn't get us up at that hour for an 8am class, but a keg helps for motivation to wake that early.)

I remember waking on Sundays in college, sitting around the apartment I shared with my best girlfriends and reminiscing about the weekend's events. We would get some Pokey Stix from the nearby pizza place (Pokey Stix are basically a giant portion of cheesy bread that is the ultimate cure for a hangover, if you were wondering.) I would down a glass of water, finish my homework, and be ready to roll.

Nowadays, the situation is much different. And you know, I remember my cousin warning me about this and I never listened. Just wait, she said... the later you get into your twenties, the longer the hangovers last. And don't tell her this, but she was right. I woke yesterday after a few too many glasses of wine and two mojitos, and I was in extremely rough shape. It seems like the headaches are worse, the nausea sets in at an earlier hour, and I just can't seem to hold my head up straight. It's like mother nature's way of telling you you are not 21 anymore, so stop trying to keep up. I think I'm going to have to let her win this one; she obviously knows best.