Hungover For The First Time In My Life: My Annual Birthday Blog

I just sent the following text to my cousin Jesse, who last night had the enviable task of being the designated driver:

I am hungover for the first time in my life. My head is pounding. My throat is parched. I can't find my glasses. I'm sensitive to sun. I'm wearing sweatpants and have no idea when I put them on. Your wife is sleeping on my futon, which confuses me since you drove. And did we play pool last night? Did we win?

And I'm writing this blog lying stomach-first on my fake-hardwood floor. Because truthfully: Right now, it's a little hard to stand.

Let me backtrack:

Today, I am 32 years old. My lucky number, for what that's worth. And honestly, I wasn't even planning to go out last night. Today, I am sharing my birthday with my brother-in-law Marshall, who is getting married later this afternoon (and I hope to hell is in a better state than I am right now. For the record, Courtney -- that's Marshall's soon-to-be blushing bride -- Marshall was not with me last night visiting my good friends at the Cowboy Palace Saloon). So obviously, focus has been on his upcoming wedding. Not that it matters, since I'm not one for wild parties on my birthday anyway.

But last night, my wife Ramona and I were hanging out with her cousins Jesse and Bethany (in town from Oregon for the wedding). The plan was for all of us to get a quick drink at Cowboyland before going to see the movie Bridesmaids.

Here's what I believe happened:

Prior to leaving the house, we all had a shot of tequila.

If I remember correctly, I had more than one.

At this point, I probably started laughing hysterically. Because multiple shots of tequila is enough to get me drunk, and when I'm drunk I laugh at just about anything.

We get into the car and head over to the bar.

On the way there, Ramona mentions something about Mexican food. Which makes me think about quesadillas. Which makes me laugh more.

We get to the bar.

Quick shot of Patron.

I believe I danced.

And for some reason, I kept stealing Jesse and Bethany's beer and taking swigs, which is weird since I honestly hate beer and last night was no different.

Now this is where things get hazy:

I honestly don't remember everything about last night. For the first time ever in my life, I have some blank spots. I checked my phone this morning and saw that I sent a few drunk text messages. I tried to spell "head spinning" and spelled it "headvspinbing."

But this is what I do remember:

Losing count of how many tequila shots I had. I thought 5. I think I was told 7.

Saying I would dance on the bar for $5. I don't think this occurred.

Stumbling upon some Bachelor Party attendees and bestowing upon them the virtues of marriage.

Talking to some white guy named Trinidad and his mother-in-law, and saying something like "Kids are a blessing that I'm just not ready for."

Telling the bartender who gave me a shot of tequila on the house that "I'd give you a tip but I can't find my keys."

I think I did play pool. And I think some random woman stole my pool cue.

Coming home and soon after having to throw up. My bathroom was occupied so I told Ramona: "It's OK, honey. I'll throw up in yours."

And I believe Jesse and I had the following exchange:

Me: Dude, there's a guy over there talking to Bethany.

Jesse: Yes, he is.

Me: Now, if you need to kick his ass, I'll back you up.

Jesse: Thank you, Nev. I don't know if that's necessary, but...

Me (interrupting): Because that's what we need to do. As men. We need to defend our women. Even if the guys are bigger than us.

Jesse: Right. Well...

Me (interrupting again): Because I'll be honest: That guy would kick my ass. He would. He's too big. And I'm too small. It's all science.

Jesse: Science.

Me: Right, science. But it doesn't matter. Because it's the effort, Jesse. The effort! I may get my ass kicked. I will get my ass kicked! But I defended my wife. And for that, I can look at myself in the mirror. It's all psychics.

(pause)

Jesse: You mean psychological?

(pause)

Me: Did you get a haircut?

Yeah.

So anyways, 8 hours later I am feeling the aftereffects of a night out for the first time in my life. I'm 32 years old and am coming to find out -- once and for all -- that I can't hold my liquor worth a damn.

But if someone else is paying for the liquor...

...then why the hell not? :-)

Happy birthday Nev!

32. God damn...