Alex Becker
This blog is in no way backed by science, it is purely based on what I did this morning after getting black out drunk at a happy hour.
You wake up at 6:30 in the morning due to the sunlight shining directly in your eyes because you forgot to close the curtains before stumbling into bed last night. You are confused, wearing jeans but no shirt, and have a pounding headache. Though getting up right now is the last thing you want to do, you need to take some Advil. After rolling out of bed, you drag your feet to the bathroom, pour as few pills out into your hand as possible and just pop them directly into your mouth. You’re hoping to get between two and four, but you are way too braindead to pick them out one-by-one so if you end up taking seven, so be it. You scarf those down head under the sink style and get back in bed. Fuck. You forgot to fix the shades. Whatever, there’s no way you’re getting back up.
All you want to do is go back to sleep. Although you don’t have a legitimate set time you need to start your work, you do have a full day of stuff to get done. Obviously you won’t set an alarm because technically you’re sick and need rest, medically speaking. You close your eyes and try to get comfortable, but between the inescapable sunlight and spins that have returned again from last night, that is way easier said than done. You twist and turn, using your blanket to block out the sun, but then you get nervous that sleeping with a blanket over your entire head is going to break off your oxygen supply and make you pass out. You may still be a little drunk. After what feels like an eternity of mouth breathing and rolling over, you finally fall asleep.
When you wake up, the first thing you do is check your phone. Although your head no longer feels like it’s on the brink of explosion, you still just feel out of it. Your recollection of last night is foggy at best, your body is physically sore, and your stomach feels both hungry and nauseous. You wonder how a simple happy hour fucked you up so hard only to wake up to Snapchat stories of you at what looks like three different locations. There is a timestamp in one of the videos you see on your friend’s non-private story, which shows you sweating profusely on all fours at a random bar you don’t remember being at. The timestamp helps to mark your location way across town just before midnight.
The sight of multiple locations scares the bejesus out of you considering you have no source of income and drinks are not cheap. You open the PNC app because you are a child with a debit card linked to a bank that only exists for college students and see a number significantly lower than you would have liked and/or expected. Although it’s only going to make it hurt worse you need to click for details. As it turns out, on top of dropping $68 at happy hour alone, you also managed to spend $24 at Taco Bell, a place that basically just gives out food for free. You realize that doesn’t make sense because if you know anything about Taco Bell, and you do, you should be on the toilet right about now.
You get out of bed, head to the kitchen, and start brewing a cup of coffee to hopefully bring you back to this universe. As the Keurig does its thing, you check the refrigerator to see if you have BEC supplies. Your jaw drops. There is something way better in there: last night’s T-Bell. You have no idea how you managed to drunkenly preserve your food, but who cares, it’s time to grub. You sit down with your cup o’ joe and leftovers, devouring the most explosive meal you could have possibly prepared.
What follows is a 45 minute bathroom session where you release all of the toxins you have put into your body over the last 24 hours. You walk out of the stall sweaty, yet accomplished. Though you are feeling way better, you desperately need to clean yourself. You hop in the shower, put on a hoodie, and start typing up a recap of your morning for your dozens of readers.
So, I guess to answer the question of “how to cure a hangover?” My answer is Advil, coffee, and a cold Chalupa Supreme.
