This was the plan: on Friday I was going to go out and intentionally get as hungover as possible. Sounds like a good idea right? Seriously this may have been the dumbest experiment I’ve done so far. It’s Wednesday and I still feel horrendous.
Friday started off slow. I got home from work and all my friends seemed to either be out of town or not texting me back. What a loser.
Well I can still get perfectly drunk and hungover by myself. And considering half of hangovers are made up of shame and regret, getting blackout drunk alone in front of the TV surrounded by junk food, may end up contributing to my end goal.
Well I can still get perfectly drunk and hungover by myself. And considering half of hangovers are made up of shame and regret, getting blackout drunk alone in front of the TV surrounded by junk food, may end up contributing to my end goal.
I decided to start it off on familiar territory, the tried, tested and true; rum and cokes, huge glass of coke, tons of ice, one carefully measured shot of rum. I figured I might as well use my fancy rum for the occasion, la tee da. You know it's fancy rum because it makes the coke foam weird, but like in a delicious root beer float kind of way. I call that the RBF test.
It was already 8:30 and I needed to get this sad empty party train moving a little faster, so I slammed a delicious shot of room temperature rum. It wasn't looking good then just as I was putting on my sweatpant shorts for a night of Bridget Jones style drinking I got a text from my good ol’ buddy Tim.
It’s party tiiiiiime! I threw my sweat pant shorts into the garbage, slammed another rum shot and ran out of my apartment. Next I hopped into a Lyft. Am I the only one that deleted their Uber app out of protest and can’t get it back? I even wrote them a shameful apology letter and they still won’t let me use their app, touche for sticking to your guns I guess?
Out of a mix of desperation and excitement I got there 15 minutes early. I walked up to the bar and ordered a pint and a shot of yager. Those go together right? Next I hit the patio and lit up a smoke, something else that would be crucial in maximizing my hangover. The plan was to smoke the entire pack by nights end. Gross I know but is there anything better than having the first ice cold pint and crispy smoke, on a patio after a hard days work. I know that’s cliche but I don’t GAS, it’s cliche because everyone knows it's the best thing you can do.
T-bone finally showed up. Time to mix it up. "Martini extra dry please." I’ve never ordered a martini, nor do I know what extra dry means. Good day to start. Nothing like a beer-tini, classic. I was soon lapping Tim on drink rate. and tripling him on pee rate.
It was a blast, solid Friday after work hang. A perfect mix of future dreams and schemes and exorcising the stresses of work life. By the end I think I had about five beers, a martini, two yager shots and a glass of red wine. Plus the rum and cokes from earlier. That could ensure a solid hangover the next day…..
If I was some kind of amateur.
I still had a few mistakes in me. Edendale quiets down around 1am and Tim and I decided to “cascade." I called a Lyft and then last minute I decided to booty call Gordy. No hangover is complete without a regrettable last minute decision to stay out. To make my hangover complete I needed a “I was fine, until I went to [BLANK] that was where everything went wrong” and that's exactly where we wanted to go Friday night, to wrong. A one way ticket to wrongtown please, it's on the corner of bad idea and I blew it street, thanks. No reply though, he must have crashed early like a smart adult. I jumped into my lyft and we headed towards home, and then Gordy texted me back.
I looked up at my Lyft driver through the rearview mirror “Shorry shir, I hash to change the desha-nashion” BEEP BOOP, “Yoush ga it?” I wonder how many times that happens to Uber drivers every night. Some one gets into the back seat alone and sad on their way home and then their phone beeps and they look up at the driver with a crooked smile and wobbly eyes and goes “I hash to change the desha-nashion." Somebody should write a song about that. "Chang the Deshy"
It gets a little foggy from here on out. Turned out Gordy was doing a similar experiment I just don’t think he knew it. I really mixed it up at Gordo’s. Exactly what I was looking for. He had ran out of most booze so it was a whatever you can find in the fridge kind of situation. Vodka watermelon soda anyone? That’s my drink how’d did you know.
Whiskey in a can? I love canned whiskey!
Another vodka melly please.
Pack of smokes crushed, moved on to Tucker's. I think I’m going to make it.
Nice to meet you, I’m Matt.
AAAAND WE'RE DONE - FILE NOT FOUND - PLEASE RE-INSERT DISC - PLEASE REMOVE BRAIN BLOW ON IT, AND RE-INSERT.
*ADJUSTING TRACKING*
TUNING AM RADIO
“ZAAEET....ZEEERZZ....BUZZZ...DIIIZZ------Deeeespacito, hamanama cito something something epizoto…Despacito shamamlama burrito, scheming something bonito"
Why is it that when you’re super hangover the first thing that brings you into reality is a song stuck in your head? And why is that song always the worst out there? And why is it a song you don’t really know that well so it's just a small section of it, with bastardized lyrics repeating over and over. That’s gotta be brain damage right?
"Despacito something something Mespazitoooooo"
"Despacito something something Mespazitoooooo"
I hadn’t done a full status report yet I was still floating around in my foggy brain. I looked around inside my consciousness. There was definitely damage in there. Trash everywhere, water on the floor, wires hanging from the ceiling, flickering overhead lights, few broken windows, garbage can fire. Yeah shit definitely went down in here last night. But nothing I wasn't expecting.
Alright time to turn the central nervous system on, check the pain dails. Huh, lower than expected. Better run a sobriety check. Oh wow, yup definitely still hammered. Alright, that’s good news gives us a small window to get to the I.V. center before the category 10 hangover hits shore.
So I was definitely hungover, mission successful I guess? I may have actually out done myself. I was really beat up, my body under the covers was shivering cold and my exposed head was a million degrees, temperature sensors were all bunged up. I knew I was be gonna much worse in the next few hours. My lungs felt like I had huffed a bag of gold paint and glass dust but I was functional.
Do you ever get that feeling where you just wish you could screw the top of your head off, pull out your brain, drop it in the sink and clean it like a dirty pot. And then open a little door on your stomach and scoop out all the garbage in there. And then take your lungs and throw them into the garbage, open a fresh bag of new lunges and replace then like a coffee filter? One day. That's MY definition of Next Health, call me when you have brain cleaning technology.
I rolled over to check my phone hoping to put the puzzle pieces together since the dip-to-black transition at Gordy's.
Alright I hope I didn’t drink when I got home..
Alright I hope I didn’t drink when I got home..
Uh oh, funny gag, just don’t open that—haha okay you had your fun now put it back.
Oh god don't drink it --—
Well, way to go idiot you really committed to the bit, here’s you Pulitzer prize. That was a $300 bottle of booze you opened asshole, and you don’t even like scotch.
No time to get on the shame train, I need to get to the future spa. I gave them a ring.
"Hello Next Health"
“Hey can I book an appointment for an I.V. treatment?”
“Yeah sure of course, what treatment would you like?”
“The hangover I.V.”
Her demeanor changed in a snap
“Ohh, hmmm, okay, you know you can’t come in here if you’re gonna puking everywhere.”
“I’m not puking”
“But will you?”
“No!”
"Alright fine come in an hour”
Sesh if Reese Witherspoon books a hangover I.V. appointment they’re probably like “Yeah come in sweetie we'll make you feel better. How much? Oh it's free just get down here girl” but when an average butthead wants a hangover treatment they treat you like a stray dog in Cancun taking a dump on the beach. Maybe I’ll just suffer through my hangover out of spite. I’m not gonna puke, so assumptious. Okay well I'm not 100% sure I won’t puke. This better make me feel like Jesus christ reborn, I better be able to walk on water after this and heal people with my touch.
I walked up to the counter to check in
“Hello welcome to Next Health, great day outside, what can I help you with? A wheatgrass shot, a protein booster, maybe a workout recovery treatment?”
“Um I called earlier I’m here for the hangover I.V.”
Smile turns upside down.
“Oh it's you.. COUGH-DEGENERATE"
“Wait, What did you--”
“huh, nothing I just couched, COUGH-FUCKENLOSER."
“You just did it aga--“
“I have a cold sir, just sit over in that corner and fill out this form, are you sure you’re not gonna vomit?”
Entire room turns to look at me, guy with headband and booster juice running on the spot shakes his head in disapproval.
“Yes I promise I’m not going to vomit” Sesh.
I'm not really sure what that future cryogenic pod is all about, but I'll definitely try it out one day. I wrote my name on the form struggling more than usual because of the brain damage, really focusing to make sure I didn't write the "R" backwards. Then this group of handsome British dudes comes in. Handsome British dudes get away with absolutely everything in LA everyone loves them, Colin from Love Actually knew what was up. I've had two separate British guys say that, "It's just too easy mate." They walked up to the counter and the difference in how the receptionist treated those guys was staggering. “Yeah come on in, whatever you want, you don’t need an appointment, there is this one guy here (hand over mouth) but I’ll push you ahead of him. Deadbeat loser, I’ll fill your forms out for you just go back there" “Thingks lassie!” She giggles "Oh you"
I looked up from my 7 page form, “What the fuck?” but I told myself, Just stick with it, it’s going to be worth it, you’re gonna feel like a million bucks. You will probably feel so good you can do some chores, go for a run, maybe even go out tonight again like no big deal, it’s gonna be worth it.
I handed in my form and the receptionist took it without looking up from her computer. I sat back down on the couch, I was pretty excited. I watched those British guys get ready for the cyropod thing. The receptionist watched too with her pen halfway in her mouth. They looked like they were having a blast, such good buds. “Bloody hell it's gonna be so cold in there mate” the whole place was watching now, giggling and smiling. Those guys probably have a blast. I bet they watch soccer games at weird hours and drink pints, and call each other flatmates. I pictured myself hanging out with them as their one American lad, drinking Guinness, eating bags of crisps at the bar and laughing over a game of Gin Rummy.
“Okay Mart Unwort come back now, COUGH-YOU-PIECE-OF-SHIT."
She showed me to the "doctor’s office." I waited for a while and that's when my hangover started to creep in. I entered swallow awareness and my mouth began to sweat. My stomach must have woken up looked around and was like “Jesus christ what the fuck happened in here, why does it reek like watermelon?” "I might puke" I thought. "But I can’t, I’ll swallow it if I have to, over and over again, I’m not giving that snooty receptionist the satisfaction of an 'I told you so.' Even if it means barfing in one of their drawers." That’s when the “doctor” came in, and when I say "came in" and "doctor" what I really mean is the receptionist walked into the room with an iPad and a doctor on FaceTime.
 |
| You can tell she hates me just by the way she's standing. |
The doctor just wanted to make sure I could handle the I.V. I guess, who knows where she was calling in from, if she was even a doctor or if she was wearing pants? What made the whole thing more awkward was I was sitting down and the reception was standing up, so she had the iPad at her waist, I was essentially talking to the receptionist's crouch. I glanced up at her at one point and I’m pretty sure she rolled her eyes. It'd be funny if just then I projectile barfed directly into the iPad. That'd show her. The weird thing was it was a fully dressed doctor’s office, was that just for show? Like if the doctor only called in via FaceTime then why have the jars of cotton swabs and ear thingies. Or does she sometimes go “Okay receptionist please grab the thermometer in your left hand, okay, good, now but it in the patients butt”
The doctor was nice “Good morning Mart Unwort, what have you come in for today?” “Hangover I.V. mam” like a kid who just pee’d his bed. This whole third degree process was beginning to not be worth it. Am I getting a hangover remedy or my appendix out? Shesh.
Finally I get brought into the IV room, it’s me and a woman who I would bet a hundred bucks is on a reality show. She had that discount face filler look like she goes to the Taco Bell of plastic surgery places. Then the nurse came in who was A) so nice, she was funny and kind and didn’t judge me when I told her I was getting the hangover bag, I think I was unusually receptive to kindness after the receptionist bullied me all morning, and B) She was incredibly attractive.
I just laid back and took in the juice. During my drip sesh the reality show girl’s friend came in and they had the exact conversation you’d hear in a reality show, it was kind of crazy, I looked around to see if there was a camera crew there. it was like “You know, Donnie is crazy but like fun crazy, he works hard and he plays hard. We're all a little crazy you know what I mean, but we know when we have to be real and get things done we step.”
I watched all this slouched in my chair like a decrepit 100 year old human man dying of leprosy. I soon bag lapped the woman across from me, I guess my veins were just wider than hers, no biggie, just got big ol' viens. I eventually vein chugged my bag and nurse bandaged me up.
Next I walked up to the counter to pay my bill ,the total cost [RECORD SCRATCH] $169!!
ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY NINE DOLLARYDOOS!
After forking over my retirement fund I stood outside in the blinding sun one hour and one I.V. bag of hangover recovery juice later. VERDICT..
I felt exactly the same as I walked in, maybe even a little worse. If the nurse had just poured the bag on to the floor, I think I would have felt the same. Maybe...just maybe, there was a tornado creeper hangover heading towards me and it curbed it off. But that’s kind of a cop out.
My theory is when the nurse was inserting the needle she got distracted by those British dudes and she stabbed right through the vein tube and out the other side and the bag just drained into my arm guts? Any nurses out there? Would the bag drain if she missed my vien? My arm wasn’t filled with water or anything. Would I be able to tell if that happened somehow, would I have a Popeye forearm? The bag had to have emptied somewhere, the needle was in my arm, but nothing? Was just my left arm hangover free now?
After that my entire weekend was toast. I had a full two day hangover. So all-in-all, not the best experiment. I’d give it another try but for that price, yeah no thanks.
Thanks for nothing Next Health, more like No-Effects Health. Burn.
Thanks for nothing Next Health, more like No-Effects Health. Burn.