Content on a Rainy Day

My heart always melts a little bit when I find them snoozing on the same couch.  Winky decided to lick himself for several minutes as soon as I got my camera out.  Oh well, they’re still cute.

How to Cure Those Hangover Blues

I’ve noticed that the older I get, the less booze I can drink without feeling completely awful the next day.  It all started a few months ago when I was sipping a beer around a campfire, talking and laughing with friends, and the next thing I knew I was in a stranger’s house spewing into some dude’s toilet.  If I hadn’t been in such a state of shambles I probably would have been humiliated.  Since then, it has all kind of gone down hill.

My hangovers range from that I-don’t-feel-quite-right sensation to oh-my-god-I-want-to-die feeling.  Most of the time I experience the latter.

I have compiled a list of all of the remedies I have tried to beat those hangover blues.  Some have been effective, some have not.

Time.  I know, this is really lame, but time has proven to be the most effective cure for a hangover.  Time heals all hangovers.  On New Year’s Day I was feeling particularly vomitocious.  It was well into the afternoon and I was still sprawled out on the couch, swaddled in what is now known by my family as  “the healing blanket”.  As my family discussed the really cheesy lasagna that we had for dinner the night before I closed my eyes and tried to block the image of melty cheese from my mind.  I had to immediately excuse myself to throw up.  When I came back my mom expressed her sympathy that I  would not be able to partake in the delicious fondue dinner party we were having that night.  I assured her that I would be fine by 5 or 6pm.  Come 5:30 I was ravenously chowing down on pepperoni sticks smothered in cheese.

Slurpee.  The blend of sugary sweet and slushy cold almost never fails me.  If I’ve had a raucous night and I’m near a 7-11 the next morning, I have to go.  I always get a half cherry half coke slurpee.  It not only settles my stomach but it also gives me some pep.  Those delicious icy treats work miracles.

Exercise. I’ve tried this remedy a few times and it tends to work, though it depends on the severity of the hangover.  If I’ve got the oh-my-god-I-want-to-die hangover then chances are I’m curled up in the fetal position on a bed, couch or bathroom floor.  A few months ago I went to a party and had consumed enough alcohol to feel gross the next morning.  Despite feeling blah I went ice skating for over 2 hours the next day with some of my fellow party goers and afterward I felt like a million bucks.

Tea. I don’t drink nearly enough tea after a night of drinking.  The few times that I’ve had some hot tea in the morning I’ve felt way better.  One time I slept over at a random dude’s house on his living room couch.  I woke up the next morning to find a cup of piping hot tea on the coffee table, put out there for me by the random dude’s roommate.  It was the sweetest thing ever.  There aren’t nearly enough guys in the world like the random dude’s roommate.

More alcohol.  A lot of guys claim that drinking a beer in the morning helps.  Just the thought of alcohol when I’m hungover makes me feel worse.  I took a few sips of beer once when I was feeling really desperate.  My nausea didn’t go away but my pounding head felt better. Another time I drank a frozen margarita.  It had about the same effect as a slurpee except I felt drunk again.

Crackers. I’ve heard that things like toast and crackers are good for hangovers.  Well, once I forced myself to eat some saltines because I was feeling sick all day and hadn’t eaten anything.  Then, still feeling terrible, I went on an outing with my family.  I had to have them pull the car over so I could ralph up my crackers.  So far, I’ve found no food that can cure an oh-my-god-I-want-to-die hangover.

There are other obvious things that help such as sleep, liquids, fresh air and showers.  Something that I would suggest avoiding are moving vehicles.  Cars, buses, trains, subways, boats- I’ve been there and it is not pretty.

Of course, the most effective way to avoid a hangover is to ‘drink responsibly’.  I have also learned that what they say about mixing beer, wine and liquor is true- the outcome can be horrifying.  Then again, to quote myself after my sister asked me if I had learned my lesson, moments after upchucking out her car door, “NO!”

Another Day

This looked kinda interesting on an otherwise uninteresting day.

I Love…

I just created  a new page on my blog dedicated entirely to things that I hate.  I’m really not a big pessimist and I shall prove that by now posting about something that I love.  I truly love jello with whipped cream.  Yes, I am secretly six years old.

By the way, I totally respect food photographers.

C&O Canal Trail

Took a stroll along the C&O Canal from Violettes Lock today.  I could get used to this sunny, mild weather.

Meridian Hill Park

Last week, when it was randomly 70 degrees and beautiful outside, I ventured into the city to do some urban hiking.  I stumbled upon Meridian Hill Park in the Columbia Heights neighborhood.  It is arguably the most pavement you will ever see in a park.  I thought it was pretty cool, though, and I’d say it’s worth a visit.  I’m sure it’s even cooler when they fill all of the fountains up with water.  For now, a great place to do some illegal skateboarding.

Dad Can’t Spell

My Dad is a really bad speller.  I first discovered this when I was eight years old.  My elementary school days were marked by neon slap bracelets, pogs, and weekly spelling tests.  We would be given a list of words on Monday and we had until Friday to learn how to spell them.  Unlike my dad, I was a really good speller.  I consistently scored 100 percents on my weekly tests.  At that point in my grade school career I had an A+ streak going.  That was, of course, until I asked my dad to help me study.

The word was “separate”.  He told me it was spelled s-e-p-e-r-a-t-e.  I got it wrong on my test.  I was devastated.

I was reminded of my dad’s bad spelling several years later when my Uncle Dennis suddenly passed away.  It was a tragic event for my family and the wake and funeral were particularly emotional.  My mom and aunts thought that it would be nice to leave blank guest books around the funeral home during the wake so that family and friends could write down some of their fondest memories of Dennis.  My aunt who delivered the eulogy at the funeral the next day could share some of those memories.

After a draining evening we decided to gather the guest books and read through the entries.  Page after page was filled with touching stories of my uncle’s warmth and generosity.  Then, we got to my dad’s entry.

For starters, he misspelled Dennis’s name repeatedly.  The person he was referring to in this book was someone by the name of Denise.  My dad recounted happy memories of going down to the shorehouse with Denise.  Except my dad also has really messy handwriting, so shorehouse looked something more like $horehouse.   That’s right, in that guest book meant to pay homage to wonderful, caring Uncle Dennis my dad wrote about visiting some dollar whorehouse with a broad named Denise.

Again, I was reminded of my dad’s bad spelling tonight when I passed by the dry erase board on the refrigerator, where we write down stuff we need at the grocery store.  Lets take a closer look, shall we?

For starters, my dad appears to have dyslexia.  I really just don’t know how else to explain “begals”.  He also misspelled spaghetti.  I admit, it’s  one of the trickier words to spell and my background in Italian has made me particularly sensitive to correct spelling of pasta variations .  I could let that one slide. My favorite, though, is the way he attempted to write yogurt.  I had to google  this one to make sure that he didn’t just accidentally correctly spell some weird British version of the word.  Nope, not even close.  It looks like someone needs to revisit 2nd grade spelling class.

*The next day he added another item to the grocery list: Soy Sause