Today I'm grateful
for hangover cures.

In honor of my first hangover of 2010, I've searched the globe in an attempt to find the cure for my headachey, groggy, sweaty, belly gargeling, watery-eyed, head pounding, unable to bend without passing out, tired, restless, I want to eat but can't, dying of unquenchable thirst feeling, known affectionately as a hangover -- or as I like to call it, every Saturday morning.

Global Hangover Cures

Ancient Rome

Romans devoured next best thing to a Rooty-Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast, a big plate of fried canaries and raw owl eggs. This high-fat dish was said to cure the aches and pains associated with those all night, wine drenched orgies. I think I'll pass.

Ireland

I'm going to trust the Irish because they know a thing or two about drinking. (That's an ugly stereotype, but it's true, and I'm too hungover to be politically correct.) They simply bury the ailing person up to the neck in moist river sand.  As bad as it sounds, this actually could come in handy next time I pass out during spring break at Lake Havasu.

Morocco

When Moroccans are hangin’ they inhale the smoke of burning fossils. Turns out doctors with actual stethoscopes around their necks prescribe charcoal tablets for indigestion, so there may be some scientific evidence to support this. But it can’t be as restorative as big healthy bong load -- which would be my guess for the Jamaican hangover cure.

France

The French rely on the oldest hangover cure in the world, the booty call. A tumble between the sheets is believed to get your blood flowing and your heart racing, speeding the release of toxins from your body. Finally. A cure I can relate to.

These remedies seem a bit far-fetched, while my hangover cure is pretty basic. I drink 2 quarts of Gatorade, take four Advil, (some Plan B depending on the previous nights drunken activities) and eat a Carl’s Jr Breakfast burrito with extra hot sauce. This morning I didn’t have any of those supplies on hand so I just curled up under the covers, clutched a bottle of NyQuil and chewed on tinfoil to distract myself from the throbbing pain in my head. Robert Benchley said it best, “the only real cure for a hangover is death.” And boy howdy, is he preachin’ to the nauseous choir today, but tomorrow is a new day, and a new night to drink some more cocktails.

That’s why I’m grateful for hangover cures.




Forget about rainbows and unicorns, I’m grateful for double martinis, single men and pretty much anything covered in chocolate or cheese. This gratitude journal is anonymous because the stuff that tends to fall out of my head and land on the page makes HR departments cringe -- and guys lose my number.
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