As you begin to get older and further removed from the unrealistic lifestyle that is college, you may start to notice your hangovers have evolved into something much more extensive. Nay, the minor headaches and exhaustion are all things of the past. Panic attacks, re-evaluations of life and 3 days in the pit of misery became the norm. I started to really notice this new attribute of my life when I turned 25. Like flipping on a light switch, the second I turned 25, Life after a night of drinking became comparable to the black angel of death. If you think it gets better at 26, spoiler alert: It gets worse. As you being to age, your hangover is not the only thing that digresses and becomes worse. Your looks, your bones, health and if you’ve been in the corporate life long enough, your morale all decrease. I wish I could tell you, it does get better but that would be a white lie and a far-fetched fable. Yesterday, Saint Patrick’s day stabilizes for hypothesis even further.
Last year, on post Saint Patrick’s day, I sustained a concussion. More of the details on that debacle for the next article. This year, I pondered, there is no way the disaster that occurred a year ago could get worse. Common theme since post grad, I am wrong on the majority of my theories.
This year, I decided I would not partake in the all day drinking event that turns into night. Drinking for 13 plus hours is just a bad idea, nothing good ever happens and your chances of making a horrible decision in a green “kiss me I’m Irish” tee is inevitable. Being I am now part of #Club26, I decided to not drink during the day and just have some drinks at night, keep it light and keep it responsible.
Because I don’t trust myself enough not to drink on the worlds largest alcoholic induced party, I decided to play in a Beer league hockey tournament. As you get older, you tend to try to find activities to occupy yourself so you don’t have the allocated time to reflect on your work life, hence Beer league hockey. 5 minutes into buzzing around the ice, I feel a sharp graze hit my face. A 42-year-old duster swinging his twig out there like he’s Jamie Lanister cutting down the Grey Joys, split my chin wide open. As I skated off to the bench with blood shooting out of my face like a volcano, I thought to myself, this is my own fault. I shouldn’t be pretending to relive the glory days at 26. This is what happens. Game ends, we lose, I lose and my chin looks like Peter griffin. Off to the hospital.
2 hours later, your boy is stitched up and ready to go. It’s about 11 p.m. and even though it’s past this 26 year olds bedtime, nothing is going to stop me from celebrating the great Saint that is Patrick. Fast forward 30 minutes, I walk into the jam-packed bar with zero square radius to move. I feel a sharp pain. Oh great oden’s ravens, what is that pain!??? Turns out, just walking around the bar to quickly, I rolled my left ankle. Literally walking. That is the most white person way to get injured possible. Yet, that’s what happens when you get old, things stop working. Being the drama queen I am, my buddies elevate my foot and start icing it. I am getting a lot of unwanted attention right now. I haven’t even had two beers yet and am about to make my second trip in 3 hours back to the ER. The bouncer then decided he needs bring in the paramedics. Three paramedics with a stretcher walk in. everyone is looking at me, I start having a panic attack. As they try to load me up onto this stretcher like I am professor X, I refuse and plead that I am not going in an ambulance ride because I know damn well my insurance wont cover it. As I hobbled out with the entire bar watching me like a spectacle, I thought, I was wrong. My 26th saint Patrick’s day became vastly worse than my 25th. So here I am, busted chin, lip and hobbling around on crutches. Thinking Glass half full, I didn’t get the chance to drink because my 26 year old bones gave out, so at least I am not hungover but my foot has kankles now.
I here by cancel Saint Patrick’s day next year. With the help of some friends and some late night phone calls, I was able to overcome my self inflicted injuries. Welcome to Club 26, where nightmares become reality. Stay tuned for next weeks #Club26
Categories: Booze Hounds