A Weekend of Drinking, Two Hangovers, One Cold and Valentine’s Day.

drinking

Last weekend, I overestimated my ability to drink.

In college I used to be able to drink three, sometimes even four, nights in a row.  Sure I would get a hangover but it was nothing to cry about. Last weekend I decided I was going to drink, well not just drink but to party, two nights in a row. So out I went Friday night with some of my college friends in San Francisco. I drank, accidentally started talking to a 30-year old, gave him my number and then proceeded to forget the rest of the night. Then Saturday was my friend’s birthday celebration involving lots of wine, vodka shots, photo shoots and staying up until 5am. As you can imagine, by Sunday I was exhausted  hungover, nauseous and tired.

That was how I caught a cold. Or the flu. Anyways I got sick. I dragged my sorry ass to work Monday, took as much Vitamin C as possible,and prayed to the gods that I wouldn’t catch a cold. Tuesday and Wednesday were a blur. On Thursday and Friday the real sickness hit. Saturday and Sunday I laid in bed. That is what I get for trying to drink two nights in a row. I get a week-long hangover/cold that I can’t even complain about because I fully deserved it.

In between my sickness passed Valentine’s Day.

Now, I have never been a fan of V-Day. Even when I was little I didn’t like it. Then as a teenager I never had a valentine and that was just depressing. Then I got to college and I had a real valentine and you know what, it sucked then too. I remember getting into a huge fight with my boyfriend at the time (who my friends and I call He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.) We were actually in a fight because I didn’t care about Valentine’s Day and I was off with my friends having fun. He took that as me not caring about him (which I didn’t but that was a whole different problem) and thus we were fighting. I went to bed sobbing because he was being an ass. Happy Valentine’s Day, right?

I think the whole concept of Valentine’s Day is kinda weird. On a certain day you are supposed to buy chocolates and flowers and go out to a fancy dinner. Personally, I can’t eat chocolate and if you have to buy me a bouquet of something, it had better be of wine. Fancy restaurants are lost on me because of my gluten allergy. I will probably just order a plain salad anyways. If it was up to me I would treat Valentine’s Day like any other date night. Cook dinner and have nice wine. Hangout and be together. I don’t need anything fancy. I don’t want chocolates. I don’t want you to post pictures of your flowers bouquets on Instagram. Nor do I want you to profess your love to me via Facebook status. But then again, I’m not a normal.

But back to Valentine’s Day. I was sitting at work, sick as hell, and my cell phone rings. It was some random number so I assumed (since it was during work hours) that it was a work-related call. I picked it up and muttered “hello” in my sorry-ass sick voice. It was him. The 30+ year-old that I met and gave my phone number to last Friday night. (side note: I don’t remember his name nor would I be able to pick him out of a crowd of strangers). He was calling to wish me a happy Valentine’s Day and also wanted to know when I would be free to go out with him. Even though I don’t remember his name I remembered that he was: 1. creepy as hell; 2. 30+ years old and; 3. a high school dropout. (I really know how to pick the winners, right? And I wonder why I am still single….) Anyways I came up with some excuse about being sick all weekend. Let’s hope he doesn’t call again…

And that my friends, was the extent of my Valentine’s Day: call from a 30-year-old-creepster and a cold. I spent the rest of the night sneezing in bed paying for my weekend of fun. But the weird part about this whole experience was that I didn’t even care that it was Valentine’s Day. In the past I had agonized over being alone on V-Day. But this year, I didn’t even care. It didn’t even matter to me that I was single. Either I am coming to terms with the fact that I am destined to be a crazy cat lady or I just realize that being single isn’t the worst thing . I’ve got other great things in my life and I know that part will fall into place in due time.

So lesson learned. I know I am getting older because: 1. I can’t party two nights in a row; 2. 30 + year old’s are interested in me; and 3. being single doesn’t even phase me anymore.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. smartassy says:

    This is so relatable!

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