This weekend was a disaster. Saturday was Santacon, which is probably the best thing about New York winters. This would be my 4th year in a row doing Santacon and I was pumped. And I was especially excited because J was in town from Dallas for work, and even though she had to leave for the airport on Saturday morning, I was determined to let her at least get a taste of Santacon by going to G’s pregame starting at 8am.
I set my alarm for 8am for Saturday morning after what I thought was a pretty calm night the night before of just going out to dinner with friends, then hitting up a few bars and only having like one drink per bar. Apparently I guess I’d had a little more than that, and then also remembered J and I had started off the night finishing off an entire bottle of wine in about 20 minutes and several more drinks, which I realized when I half successfully puked up bits and parts of my Chimay from Jimmy’s No. 43 the next morning. I was not ready for Santacon. Neither was J.
But we forced ourselves to get up, I put on my red top and green scarf and Santa hat, and I cried as I felt like dying while leaving the apartment with J/B/T. When we got to G’s pregame the smell of fried eggs instantaneously made me feel better, and the taste of the ham/egg sandwich on challah almost cured my hangover… until I turned around and saw the cans and cans of beer and felt like ralphing again. People around me kept offering me beer and I threw up a little in my mouth.
Anyway Santacon this year started off at some odd locations, like Chinatown then Central Park where there was no drinking. So we kinda came up with our own Santacon route, hitting up places we liked better like the West Village, and the entire city followed us.
Santacon
Finally around noon I started to feel like myself again, and good thing there were free cans of beer being passed around within our group the whole day because I essentially got wasted all over again for free, and the only thing I ate all day was the ham/egg/challah sandwich at 8am and a slice of S’s leftover pizza around 3pm. By 4pm I was feeling golden.
Pizza
Our Santacon group was dying down around 7ish but we had another place to be at 9pm: S’s Four Loko party that we all thought wasn’t actually going to happen because we had bets on S passing out by 5pm and not being able to host his own party.
But it did happen, and it was a complete shitshow. I had one watermelon Four Loko and thought I was going to die. Roommate L had 3 Four Lokos — yes, 3 — and thought he was going to die X 3. I don’t know what he was thinking. We all knew it was time for him to go home when he started rocking back and forth on the couch with his eyes shut and a pained smile on his face. Everyone knew it was time for me to go home when I half passed out on S’s bed and started hysterically laughing at things for no reason at all with B/T jumping on the bed around me.
Well when I finally got home at who-knows-what-time, I went to the bathroom to find L’s grape Four Loko vomit all over the toilet and my watermelon vomit followed shortly thereafter. Let’s just say Sunday morning was incredibly painful and thank god for Chinese food without which I don’t know how we would have survived.
Poverexic in NYC 