I always used to silently make fun of my "older" friends when they'd complain about how being hungover stays with you longer as you get older, and I used to think that they were full of shit and trying to make excuses for the fact that they'd simply grown older and less fun. False. I recognized my breaking point last night, three free glasses of some delicious French, full-boded red. That was enough. That and the cheese plate and I should have been set. I was set. I was happy, buzzed and satiated. But, being the indulgent moron that I am, I headed downtown for dinner with friends. Yes, dinner. Another two bottles of red, a glass of moscato, a bowl of pasta, a chocolate souffle, and an after dinner rose at the wine bar down the street later I wanted to write an apologetic eulogy to my liver.
On the upside, my cousin has bequeathed me the keys to her east village apartment for the next few days, so I'm back in my old "stomping ground". (God, I hate that phrase). On the downside, I've already locked myself out once.
Oh man, I'm starting to feel like I may fall over. It's 5 pm and the hangover still ranks #1 on my list of priorities. Even a viewing of Bridget Jones' Diary and three episodes of the first season of The OC couldn't ease the pain.
I'll be back on a better day. Excuse the shitty pun for a title.