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The hangovers one experiences in their teens and twenties really don't compare to what happens after the age of about 25... In your youth you can easily stay out until 4am, drink your body weight in alcohol, pass out by 5 and by some miracle actually feel human the following day. You may feel a slight headache or dehydration but nothing that can't be cured by an ibuprofen and some water. HOWEVER, once you pass the age of say, 25 it's downhill from there. I don't usually do this but this time, in fact, I would like to show you an example of exactly what Im talking about here by adding the following page for your viewing pleasure. Please read the following before I continue my ranting...
http://www.buzzfeed.com/samjparker/the-9-types-of-hangover-weve-all-had
So, as you have now witnessed just how bad hangovers can be past the age of 25, Id say my post girl's night hangover was a number 2.
After 48 hrs of consuming as much coconut water and green juice as money could buy, I was officially 30 years old. Yes, that's right, today was my 30th birthday. I happen to share my birthday with my roommate/best friend and luckily for him, he was at the airport ready to jet off to celebrate with his family in Miami. I however, had already had my one last girls night out, trapped a nerve in my shoulder and sprained my wrist. So, I spent this glorious day alone in my apartment with my dog. Even she seemed to be looking at me with pity and if she could talk, I imagined by the look she was giving, that the words would be something along the lines of..."oh dear, what did you do this time?" Bitch. What's the point of having a pet if they're going to bloody judge you?!
So, as I sat in my apartment, which may I add, was now bleakly empty as I had already shipped all my belongings back to England. I started to ponder on my life. Not a good idea when you are post hangover, alone, turning 30, broken hearted and sitting in an empty apartment with your dog..
It was not a happy time. The only thing that kept me from throwing myself head first off my balcony, was the thought that in a few days time I would be setting off on a jet plane back to London, to start over, a new life, new beginning and no more bloody waitressing! Hurrah.
As I sat there thinking about this and smiling to myself I suddenly remembered the awful and shocking pain that I was in. My shoulder was killing me after my ridiculous drunken bull ride and it was time for some serious pain relief. Now, lets face it, people in LA tend to pop opiate painkillers such as Vicodin etc for simple pleasure and a good night out, but for me, I actually decided I needed to take one for it's actual medical purpose...curing pain. So, I walked over to my bed stand and pulled one out of my drawer, grabbed a glass of water and popped it in my mouth when..... YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME? I started choking on the damn thing. That's right, I somehow managed to drink it down the wrong way and the bastard thing got lodged in my throat causing me to choke. For what seemed like one very long and scary second, my whole life flashed before my eyes and I succumbed to the horrific fact that I was indeed going to choke to death on a bloody painkiller, on my 30th birthday alone with my dog.
In that second I thought, "f**k that"! I know I've had some bad luck in my days and the past few months had not been the greatest...but I'll be damned if this is going to be my legacy. So, with my new found strength I did what anyone with first aid training would do (finally a reason to thank my work for something) I ran chest first into the biggest corner I could find in my kitchen, in an attempt to perform the heimlich maneuver on myself. As luck would have it it actually worked! I choked up the pill and spat it out across my kitchen as I clung for dear life onto the counter that had basically saved my life.
After that, I burst into absolute hysterical laughter. I looked around at this situation... the dog hadn't even budged an inch and just continued to stare at me in sheer disbelief, I was gripping the counter in absolute shock that I had actually remembered how to perform the bloody heimlich in the first place and was just generally amused by what the fuck had just happened.
That was it. I was done. Done with LA. Done with being a bitter angry waitress. Done with my stupid heartbreak and absolutely full on ready to get the mc fuck out of LA and back to London.
Was it a sign? Giving me a fresh start? A new chance to start a whole new life? Perhaps it was. Whatever it was, I didn't give a shit, I was ready to blow this joint!
So, as you have now witnessed just how bad hangovers can be past the age of 25, Id say my post girl's night hangover was a number 2.
After 48 hrs of consuming as much coconut water and green juice as money could buy, I was officially 30 years old. Yes, that's right, today was my 30th birthday. I happen to share my birthday with my roommate/best friend and luckily for him, he was at the airport ready to jet off to celebrate with his family in Miami. I however, had already had my one last girls night out, trapped a nerve in my shoulder and sprained my wrist. So, I spent this glorious day alone in my apartment with my dog. Even she seemed to be looking at me with pity and if she could talk, I imagined by the look she was giving, that the words would be something along the lines of..."oh dear, what did you do this time?" Bitch. What's the point of having a pet if they're going to bloody judge you?!
So, as I sat in my apartment, which may I add, was now bleakly empty as I had already shipped all my belongings back to England. I started to ponder on my life. Not a good idea when you are post hangover, alone, turning 30, broken hearted and sitting in an empty apartment with your dog..
It was not a happy time. The only thing that kept me from throwing myself head first off my balcony, was the thought that in a few days time I would be setting off on a jet plane back to London, to start over, a new life, new beginning and no more bloody waitressing! Hurrah.
As I sat there thinking about this and smiling to myself I suddenly remembered the awful and shocking pain that I was in. My shoulder was killing me after my ridiculous drunken bull ride and it was time for some serious pain relief. Now, lets face it, people in LA tend to pop opiate painkillers such as Vicodin etc for simple pleasure and a good night out, but for me, I actually decided I needed to take one for it's actual medical purpose...curing pain. So, I walked over to my bed stand and pulled one out of my drawer, grabbed a glass of water and popped it in my mouth when..... YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME? I started choking on the damn thing. That's right, I somehow managed to drink it down the wrong way and the bastard thing got lodged in my throat causing me to choke. For what seemed like one very long and scary second, my whole life flashed before my eyes and I succumbed to the horrific fact that I was indeed going to choke to death on a bloody painkiller, on my 30th birthday alone with my dog.
In that second I thought, "f**k that"! I know I've had some bad luck in my days and the past few months had not been the greatest...but I'll be damned if this is going to be my legacy. So, with my new found strength I did what anyone with first aid training would do (finally a reason to thank my work for something) I ran chest first into the biggest corner I could find in my kitchen, in an attempt to perform the heimlich maneuver on myself. As luck would have it it actually worked! I choked up the pill and spat it out across my kitchen as I clung for dear life onto the counter that had basically saved my life.
After that, I burst into absolute hysterical laughter. I looked around at this situation... the dog hadn't even budged an inch and just continued to stare at me in sheer disbelief, I was gripping the counter in absolute shock that I had actually remembered how to perform the bloody heimlich in the first place and was just generally amused by what the fuck had just happened.
That was it. I was done. Done with LA. Done with being a bitter angry waitress. Done with my stupid heartbreak and absolutely full on ready to get the mc fuck out of LA and back to London.
Was it a sign? Giving me a fresh start? A new chance to start a whole new life? Perhaps it was. Whatever it was, I didn't give a shit, I was ready to blow this joint!
Hi,
ReplyDeleteRight off the bat, can I say your blog is very cool. It’s refreshing to hear about your experiences, with tangible notes imparted on your readers. Because of your insight as an actor, please excuse the unorthodox request.
I am contacting you on behalf of Gregory Berger-Sobeck, graduate of Yale Drama School and award winning teacher and artistic director of Los Angeles based acting studio, Berg Studios. I wanted to reach out to see if you might be interested in holding a conversation with Gregory about the craft of acting, then blogging about it. It would be an excellent source of information, not only for yourself as an actor, but your readers.
Again, please accept my apology for the unorthodox inquiry, but I believe this is an opportunity mutually beneficial to both our talents, you and your readers as actors, and Gregory as an acting teacher. Would love the opportunity to speak with you in further detail if you’re open to it. I can be reached at contact@bergstudios.com.
Very much looking forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Dev Bajaj