This is the first True Story of many, submitted by a fellow Nomad:
Guest Blogger: Jen from Wander One Day
While we were living in Phoenix, Arizona, my husband and I took a trip to Los Angeles, California to visit a few of his fraternity brothers. I didn’t want to crash their “guys night”, so I spent the first evening with a friend who lived in the area. After living in the desert, I had a craving for fresh seafood, so we drank lots of wine and ate oysters that melted in our mouths at The Hungry Cat in Hollywood.
I made it back to my hotel room and was about to fall asleep for the night, when my husband drunkenly called me up and wanted to come up to my room. After spending the evening and most of the night drinking with his buddies, he missed me, so he took a cab 20 miles to join me for the night. How sweet, I thought, but I should have known what sort of weekend this was going to be.
The next day, we took another cab back to my car, which he had kindly parked in a ticketing zone near his friend’s apartment. Oh well, no big deal, it was just a parking ticket. His friends decided they wanted to spend the day at the beach – great idea! I love the ocean, and you don’t get to see much water living in the desert. So we all drove out caravan-style to Hermosa Beach, where friends of friends had an apartment 800 feet from the Pacific Ocean. We laid on the beach, played frisbee, engaged in many, many games of beer pong, and enjoyed the mild California springtime weather. But then unthinkable happened – the booze ran out!
No worries! My newfound friend-of-a-friend and I walked a couple blocks to the store and stocked up on wine, beer, and all sorts of good stuff. The festivities continued! And continued…
At one point around 5pm, I had the wherewithal to figure out our sleeping situation for the night. While I had the hotel in downtown LA booked for another night, there was no way either of us would sober up enough to drive before midnight. Plus, we were having too much fun! So we jumped at the offer of a futon for the night.
And so the party continued. This is where things start to get hazy. Somewhere during the night we ate burritos, which I assume were the best food we’d ever eaten due to our inebriated states. There was also a bar, where I might have almost gotten kicked out after kicking over a pitcher of sangria (my question is, why was the pitcher of sangria somewhere I could kick it??). The rest of the night is gone from memory forever.
In the morning, the hangover had yet to fully set in (and I might have still been a little drunk) when my husband dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn. I couldn’t figure out why he insisted I get my shoes on at such an ungodly hour, and he dragged me out of the apartment and down the sidewalk toward the beach.
Wonder of all wonders, on the morning after my forgotten night of drunken debauchery, we happened upon a sunrise Easter church service on the sandy beach. The sky was streaked with pale pinks and yellows, and even the waves washed quietly upon the shore. We shivered in the cool morning air and listened to the voices raised in common song. As the moon set and the sun began to rise, the music played and I received communion. I guess the hour wasn’t so unGodly after all.
Somehow the headache and queasiness that follow a night of drinking seemed muted and subdued that morning. We ate a deliciously greasy hangover-soothing breakfast at Hennessey’s Tavern, and were back on the road to Phoenix before our fellow revelers even dragged themselves out of bed.
- 5 Hangover Cures That Actually Work (thoughtcatalog.com)