Hunger, or Accepting the Past for What It Is
A friend of mine encouraged me to explore some of the adventures of the past after encountering some of my past this weekend.
Oddly enough, the one I was thinking about today was completely removed from that aspect of my past, but it makes me laugh anyway.
So here goes. And this one is stupid.
I'm really proud of the fact that I rarely get hangovers. I can absolutely count the few hangovers I've ever had one on hand. The first one was after a Big W Christmas party and I remember all I wanted to do was eat green apples. Nick took me to the Bendigo Marketplace and I bought a green apple, marveling at how awful I felt and deciding that this was going to fix everything.
The second one I had was after a night out in Melbourne. I drank eight vodka and monsters within the space of an hour, the proceeded to drink more. I got kicked out of a club, did some shit I'm not proud of and when I finally got home, got a text from my room mate asking if I was actually home, or heading back out again because she never knew with me. That made me laugh, but also made me wonder if she'd somehow known what I'd been up to that night.
Another was after a reddit meetup at a German bar. I drank way too many jager bombs (there were mini bottles of jager falling out of my handbag and bra the next day), threw up all over the place and got thrown out. The next day, my boyfriend was really nice and caring while I wailed that I didn't deserve to have him feel sorry for me because I absolutely did that to myself. That's probably in the top 5 nights I wish had never happened.
One I suffered through, in the middle of summer. Again, I'd done some shit I wasn't proud of (different shit than the last one), had about three hours of sleep and went on a picnic with my boyfriend and his mother in a really beautiful garden. I wore a hat because I'd lost my sunglasses the night before and was really hoping they wouldn't be able to notice how hungover I was. My boyfriend never mentioned it, so I actually think I got away with that one as well.
The one that lead me to thinking about all of this was just funny, really. I went out for a work dinner, I don't even remember why. It was with the Cotton On Spencer St crew and we went to the pub across the street. Someone pointed out that they had really cheap glasses of wine and let's just say I had a few. I remember my manager reminding me I had work tomorrow and me laughing and telling her that it was okay, that I don't get hangovers.
At about 12:30am, according to my uber receipts, I left the pub, got dropped off home. I vaguely remember taking my dog for a walk (I did this every night, no matter what state I was in) and calling my boyfriend and telling him all about my night, including how much I *hated* my regional manager and all the stories everyone had swapped about him that night. I don't really remember getting home or getting to bed, but I remember waking up and realising that I'd really fucked up and I'd had way too little sleep and way too much alcohol.
I somehow managed to get my ass out of the door and onto a tram. At the train station, I bought potato cakes and covered them in salt and tomato sauce, thinking that was somehow going to cure my hangover. I sat on the floor just inside the train door because I couldn't bring myself to walk any further and snapchatted my potato cake, acknowledging how badly I'd fucked up. When I reached Spencer St, I dragged my ass into Starbucks and got what I thought was sure to do the trick - an iced Americano, double shot. As someone who normally drinks iced vanilla lattes, this was such a mistake.
At that time, in that role, I was so swamped by work that it wasn't funny. I was the inventory manager and there was so much stop coming in, I couldn't keep up. The store manager couldn't support me, her hands were tied by upper levels of management who probably just wanted me to quit. I remember opening the door to my work area, seeing all of the stock piled up in rows and rows boxes, holding that damn iced coffee and just wanting to die. There was so much stock already hanging, so much stock needing to go out, so much rubbish piled up and I was... probably still drunk, really.
The first hour of my shift was spent alone and regretting every single decision I'd made the previous night. I tried so hard to drink that coffee, thinking it was going to sober me up, but instead my gag reflex was activated with every sip. When I finally chugged the last of the drink, I came so close to throwing it back up all over the hundreds of boxes I was surrounded by in that back room. Whenever my boss came in after that hour, I tried so hard to be chirpy and pretend I didn't have the worst hangover I'd ever experienced, but I in no way fooled her. I got minimal work done and was an absolute waste of space. I had to prop myself up against towers of boxes in order to stand and was meant to have gotten about 100 boxes of stock done. I was lucky to have gotten 20 done.
It's funny to look back on now, because I was so stupid and so cocky and it really was so fun.
It also felt good to type that out.
Oddly enough, the one I was thinking about today was completely removed from that aspect of my past, but it makes me laugh anyway.
So here goes. And this one is stupid.
I'm really proud of the fact that I rarely get hangovers. I can absolutely count the few hangovers I've ever had one on hand. The first one was after a Big W Christmas party and I remember all I wanted to do was eat green apples. Nick took me to the Bendigo Marketplace and I bought a green apple, marveling at how awful I felt and deciding that this was going to fix everything.
The second one I had was after a night out in Melbourne. I drank eight vodka and monsters within the space of an hour, the proceeded to drink more. I got kicked out of a club, did some shit I'm not proud of and when I finally got home, got a text from my room mate asking if I was actually home, or heading back out again because she never knew with me. That made me laugh, but also made me wonder if she'd somehow known what I'd been up to that night.
Another was after a reddit meetup at a German bar. I drank way too many jager bombs (there were mini bottles of jager falling out of my handbag and bra the next day), threw up all over the place and got thrown out. The next day, my boyfriend was really nice and caring while I wailed that I didn't deserve to have him feel sorry for me because I absolutely did that to myself. That's probably in the top 5 nights I wish had never happened.
One I suffered through, in the middle of summer. Again, I'd done some shit I wasn't proud of (different shit than the last one), had about three hours of sleep and went on a picnic with my boyfriend and his mother in a really beautiful garden. I wore a hat because I'd lost my sunglasses the night before and was really hoping they wouldn't be able to notice how hungover I was. My boyfriend never mentioned it, so I actually think I got away with that one as well.
The one that lead me to thinking about all of this was just funny, really. I went out for a work dinner, I don't even remember why. It was with the Cotton On Spencer St crew and we went to the pub across the street. Someone pointed out that they had really cheap glasses of wine and let's just say I had a few. I remember my manager reminding me I had work tomorrow and me laughing and telling her that it was okay, that I don't get hangovers.
At about 12:30am, according to my uber receipts, I left the pub, got dropped off home. I vaguely remember taking my dog for a walk (I did this every night, no matter what state I was in) and calling my boyfriend and telling him all about my night, including how much I *hated* my regional manager and all the stories everyone had swapped about him that night. I don't really remember getting home or getting to bed, but I remember waking up and realising that I'd really fucked up and I'd had way too little sleep and way too much alcohol.
I somehow managed to get my ass out of the door and onto a tram. At the train station, I bought potato cakes and covered them in salt and tomato sauce, thinking that was somehow going to cure my hangover. I sat on the floor just inside the train door because I couldn't bring myself to walk any further and snapchatted my potato cake, acknowledging how badly I'd fucked up. When I reached Spencer St, I dragged my ass into Starbucks and got what I thought was sure to do the trick - an iced Americano, double shot. As someone who normally drinks iced vanilla lattes, this was such a mistake.
At that time, in that role, I was so swamped by work that it wasn't funny. I was the inventory manager and there was so much stop coming in, I couldn't keep up. The store manager couldn't support me, her hands were tied by upper levels of management who probably just wanted me to quit. I remember opening the door to my work area, seeing all of the stock piled up in rows and rows boxes, holding that damn iced coffee and just wanting to die. There was so much stock already hanging, so much stock needing to go out, so much rubbish piled up and I was... probably still drunk, really.
The first hour of my shift was spent alone and regretting every single decision I'd made the previous night. I tried so hard to drink that coffee, thinking it was going to sober me up, but instead my gag reflex was activated with every sip. When I finally chugged the last of the drink, I came so close to throwing it back up all over the hundreds of boxes I was surrounded by in that back room. Whenever my boss came in after that hour, I tried so hard to be chirpy and pretend I didn't have the worst hangover I'd ever experienced, but I in no way fooled her. I got minimal work done and was an absolute waste of space. I had to prop myself up against towers of boxes in order to stand and was meant to have gotten about 100 boxes of stock done. I was lucky to have gotten 20 done.
It's funny to look back on now, because I was so stupid and so cocky and it really was so fun.
It also felt good to type that out.