May 19th, 2008
Last night I attended poker night at Puck’s. I don’t play poker myself but I do like to see the poker gang and when the game is at Puck and Ambrosia’s, us two ladies often use this as an excuse to shop together while the pokering goes on. Last night was no exception, and everything was going swimmingly until Ambrosia made me my first caipirinia of the night. I probably spelled that wrong, but all you need to know anyway is it’s basically a glass of liquor with a some window dressing so you can tell yourself it’s a cocktail. That’s a lie of course, but if you can’t lie to yourself, who can you lie to?
I don’t drink very often. It’s not because I don’t like the taste of liquor, because I do. And it’s not because I become an obnoxious drunk, because I don’t. The problem is the punishing, vomiting hangovers that always accompany the drinking. My hindbrain starts screaming in terror the moment the first drink is placed before me: Don’t drink that! We’ll be barfing all night! Please God NOOOOO!! But ha ha, I occasionally ignore that little voice. At my peril!
I think I only had two of these ca-whatevers yesterday, but they seemed like triples, and I also filched some of our friend Z’s beer at some point. End result? I was far drunker than I had a right to be on only two and a half drinks, and by about 10:30 I was asking Husband to take me home. My husband knows me well, and taking one look at me after the home request, agreed to end his pokering and get me on the skytrain. Further demonstrating his wisdom, he also started calling me Barfolomew. Ladies, this is why you should get married. In no other relationship can one person call the other a name involving “barf” and have it feel tender and reassuring.
We made it home, I took two Gravols, and then I hit the sack. Praying fervently that I’d sleep through the nausea that was sure to come. As if that ever works! Ha! Yet another curse of the insomniac is the ability to be woken up by the slightest tummy twinge or protest. No sleeping off the hangover for me!
So, to make a long story short, I was up a couple times Cloverfielding in wretched misery, cursing the ca-piranhas (as Z took to calling them), and – I have to be honest – experiencing considerable surprise upon seeing the rather undigested state of the watermelon I had for dinner (this may have been part of the problem. Do not rely on fruit to deal with your liquor intake.). Here is what I was thinking at the time: raaaallff… oh god I wish I was dead…. hey! Look, a totally whole chunk of watermelon! And is that a seed? Crazy! Raaaaalllfff!!
Which brings me to something grosser: did you know that when you vomit, once you get through the stomach contents, you are barfing up stuff from your intestines? Granted, stuff up near the top of them, but still. Some times people can barf so long and so hard they are actually bringing up feces. Feculent vomit! Apologies if I’ve already told you about this but even if I have, it just goes to show how much of an impact that particular piece of information has had on me. I sometimes wonder, when I reach that dry heaves stage, if I’ll end up having feculent vomit if my stomach doesn’t settle down. God, wouldn’t that be just about the worst thing you can imagine? Shitting through your mouth. Gah! It hasn’t happened yet but you never know.