There's something strangely glamorous about passing out in a friend's apartment in a giant armchair, fully clothed, with empty wine bottles strewn about. Waking up with the stale taste of red wine still in your mouth, your hair sticking on end, and the feeling that you'd give away a kidney for a glass of cold water.
Odd as it is, I love the feeling of being hungover in cases like that. Head htorbbing, sunglasses on, dry throat, raspy voice, and big circles under your eyes, it's living the dream. The summer dream at least.
Slowly crawling into consciousness while all you can do is groan and ooze off the chair is rewarding, it means it was a night well spent.
Spending the following day at work attempting to serve clients while desperately fighting a losing battle with nausea is not so fun, but equally rewarding.
Once the initial dizziness, fog, and general feeling of still being drunk wore off (it took a few coffees) in came the classic hangover stage that requires massive amounts of grease to settle an otherwise very uneasy stomach. The neat part about working in a restaurant is that if I want to be totally gross and satiate my need for grease by eating a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon in it, the guys in the kitchen happily oblige--allbeit it with a few weird looks, but I'm sure I still smelled like wine so it wasn't hard to figure out what was going on.
I messed up a ton of orders today at work, I had a pounding headache all day and no matter what I did, the taste of wine wouldn't leave my mouth.
The summer dream.
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