I have heard it said that people in their twenties are better at hangovers than people in their thirties, but I think the cut off point is age 25. Why, you might ask? Because I felt worse Sunday than when I had the flu. One day was worse than an entire week. That’s why.
It all started innocently enough on Saturday evening with an “Ugly Christmas Sweater” party Tate and I had to go to at his aunt’s house. Now, this is his more religious side of the family, so alcohol shouldn’t have even been involved, but we shook things up a bit this year a la Maker’s Mark whisky.
To give you an idea of where we were and what we were dealing with, this is the side of the family that has a “Fall Festival” instead of Halloween, and who dresses up (Halloween costumes at Fall Festival, bunny ears at Easter, etc.) any chance they get. They also sing songs and play games at Thanksgiving and Christmas. They are really kind and loving people, but oh my God with the singing and the dressing up! Know what my family does for the holidays? We sit outside chain-smoking and talking shit about other family members. There is no singing (unless it’s drunken karaoke) and there is no dressing up (unless it’s something gross or scary for Halloween).
So, I think you can understand why Tate and I decided to bring some Maker’s Mark and spike the Wassail. Also, if you’ve never had Wassail, it’s delicious, with or without alcohol. But, like most things, it’s better with.
Now, I have no “off switch” when it comes to drinking. At all. Especially if liquor is involved. One minute I am a happy, lovey drunk, and the next I have no idea because I’ve blacked out. My sister once said to me: “Hillary, every time you drink you get white girl wasted.” That is, unfortunately, a true statement. I started drinking the spiked Wassail at about 7pm on Saturday.
After about 4 small cups of it, we left this party and headed to a different one. I wasn’t drunk or even tipsy at the time and I wasn’t planning on becoming so. We were headed to my co-workers house, whom I have never hung out with outside of work and Tate has never met, so I fully intended to keep my wits about me. Famous last words and all that…
Once there, I downed another two large “7&7’s” (made with 7-Up and Maker’s Mark) and two mini liquor bottles of some Peach flavored stuff. I then said (I found this out from my coworker on Monday) “I’m getting too drunk, I need to switch to beer!” Not water. Not soda. Beer.
Needless to say, I blacked out Saturday night. And woke up dead the next day. I was in bed until I finally threw up at around 4 or 5pm, and then I stayed in bed some more. Something tells me that three or four years ago, I would not have had such a bad time. But I guess I’m getting older. I’d say I’m never going to drink again, but in case you haven’t noticed, the ongoing theme in my life is “lesson not learned”. So, there’s that.
Just a quick side note: here is another reason I am so grateful for Tate. I was able to drink on Saturday and not get behind the wheel because he was my designated driver. Please keep in mind this Holiday season, if you’re planning on drinking, don’t drive. It’s not worth a life.