Hangover

Today has been rough. Very, very, VERY rough. The reason you ask? My other half and I are suffering miserably with a 24oz flu. Vomitting, tummyache, headache, tired. UGH.

Yes folks. We are hungover.

With a WINE hangover. OUCH! For those that are unaware, wine hangovers are just THAT much worse than 'regular' booze hangovers. Just more intense and seemingly knocking more out of you. A self-inflicted flu.

We had a such a great time hanging out with friends, sipping our wine and talking away, that none of us really noticed just how much we were drinking. Yeah. Talk about a reality check when we went into the kitchen and saw how many bottles were in the sink (it was FULL). No matter how you look at it, it was a lot. A CRAP-LOAD. We basically drank like we were 20. Except we're not. Definitely not at all. The thing is, at the time, it's fine - we drink it, laugh, have a good time, take some silly pictures (you know it's a good night when you check your phone the next day and there are a bazillion pictures and texts that you totally forgot about - and let me tell you, the pictures and texts are HYSTERICAL!!!), have some snacks (including a bite of a beggin strip for the dog), solve the world's problems (because drunk people have ALL the answers don't you know. Or maybe it's just us. Maybe it's just US four that have all the answers), do some vacation planning, cry a little, and just cut loose in general. Fun times indeed!!

When it was time to head home, I clumsily got my boots on (and realized once I got home that I in fact had them on the wrong feet), and climbed into a cab. When we were about 2 mins up the road I realized that I wasn't feeling so good. Not good at all. As we coasted along the highway between the towns, it was all I could do to hold it all together. I was sweating and clammy, the smell of the cab wasn't helping, and the bumpy ride was DEFINITELY not helping. When we arrived in the driveway I had my seatbelt off and was out the door before the car had totally stopped. I tossed a $20 bill at the cabbie and left my other half to deal with the change, etc. As I fumbled with the keys to unlock the door that awful, terrible, disgusting feeling increased. And without any warning, I puked. Right there at the front door. I didn't care though . . . I just stepped over it and yelled a warning to my unsuspecting other half - just so he wouldn't step in it. At this point I realized why my boots didn't feel right . . . they were on the wrong feet. I got them off and left them in a heap with my coat and purse, and walked through the kitchen. And that feeling hit again. WHAM - I puked into the sink. I rinsed it and carried on to my bedroom, stripping along the way. I crashed instantly, but about 20mins later I wake. To the sound of my other half tossing HIS cookies in the bathroom. I'm desperately trying to not think about what he's doing, but it's hard to tune it out when it's dead quiet in the house. Then that all too familiar feeling strikes again. I puke into my mouth and frantically look around, but can't find anywhere to put it (I can still hear my other half in the bathroom), then the knowledge of knowing I had puke IN my mouth put me over the edge and I puked again - this time spewing it out my nose and onto the floor. WAY too much information here . . . but the brocolli soup I had for dinner was haunting me. Oh yeah - DEE-SCUSTING!!!! The feeling strikes again and I FLEW into the washroom giving my poor unsuspecting husband a push and a very rude "Get out" command. Then he watched, with much humour I suspect, as I prayed and make sacrifices to the porcelain gods. Over and over again. Finally, I made my way back to bed, only to turn around and haul ass back to the bathroom 2 minutes later. I finally just reached into the linen closet and pulled out a few blankets and towels and laid myself down the bathroom floor and slept there for many more hours. At almost 6:00am I woke and puked again, but my hip and shoulder were revolting at my temporary bed, so I headed back to bed. Where we remained until almost 8:30. My head was thick, my mouth tasted like someone crapped in it, I was naseous and felt as though I'd been hit by a truck. A very BIG truck. A very big truck that forced wine and brocolli soup down my throat. Why is it that something that tastes and feels SO good at the time can taste so VILE and hurt SO bad the next day?

As I fell out of bed I realized the carnage from the night before. Vomit on the floor beside the bed; clothes dropped all over; my bathroom bed; a spilled glass of water on the counter; my boots and coat pile. As many of you know, I don't do vomit. I almost burst into tears when I saw that I needed to clean up what was on the floor. My WONDERFUL husband OFFERED to clean it up. While I should have sucked it up and done it myself, because it's my own stupidity and carelessness that allowed it to happen, I admit, I greedily accepted his offer. Isn't he the best?! I slowly moved myself to the basement where I quickly realized that being upright was NOT a good place for me, so I layed on the couch and 'rested'. Although it may well have been the sight of the wine bottles on the counter - the ones I bought last night but didn't put away yet that made me feel weak-kneed and sick again. Finally at about 11:00 I was able to attempt some "sick" (soda) crackers and gingerale. Thankfully the kids were AWESOME through all this. Teen oversaw everything, and they were quietish, co-operative and good. Imp happily played nurse to us and Banshee made us many get well cards, although at first was worried that she'd catch our bug, and didn't want to come anywhere near us. At lunchtime, it was necessary for us to start functioning as parents, so we painfully got ourselves cleaned up and dressed, and headed out to the kids activities. The sunlight was tough, and the loud voices were, well, loud, but we survived - including some errands that I needed to do. I may have had to sit down to rest a couple of times along the way, and I may have bought my children's silence with a trip to Dairy Queen, but it was all good. We survived and made it home in one piece. As long as I don't look at the wine we still have here, everything goes along well.

I know that my hangover is on the way out because I'm hungry and craving some pretty crappy food. Right now I would give my left arm for a serving of battered mushrooms and ooooey, gooooey poutine . . . but that would kill me. Literally. My gallbladder would likely explode if I even attempted to ingest that. Instead, I'm going to settle for a veggie sub.

As of right now, I'm declaring that I'm NEVER drinking wine again. We know that isn't really going to happen, but it'll be awhile before we drink again. Neither of us have had a hangover like this in YEARS. So, while I'm certain that I'll likely face a bottle of wine again in the future, the one thing that I guarantee I WON'T face again is M&M's Brocolli cheese soup. Never. EVER. That stuff is NASTY as it spews through the nasal passage.

So, through it all, we had a great time last night. We don't do this often, in fact we seldom drink ourselves to this state because of the after-effects. I mean, we are definitely NOT 20 anymore, and it's definitely going to be rough the next day, and no matter how you look at it, we still have to get up with the kids the next day.

Definitely not 20. Not at all. Although . . . even if I *WAS* 20, I probably would have been rough today. Did I mention that it was A LOT of wine?!

It was. A LOT.