2012. A new year. New opportunities. Resolutions. Sunshine and rainbows. Unless of course, you are still a drunken mess.
Let me propose something, world. We should celebrate the END of the current year on December 30. Lie in bed all day on December 31 eating string cheese and Ms. Vickie’s jalapeno chips dipped in hummus or whatever else is still lurking in the pantry after the holidays, and THEN start afresh on January 1.
But no. Instead, we start the new year off with what can only be a set up for failure. Unless of course your group of friends doesn’t insist on day drinking turned night drinking turned 48 hour binge for New Year’s Eve weekend. Then I suppose you are okay. And boring.
Anyway, the point is that on New Year’s day I was teetering on the edge of what surely must have been death. But, since it was a new year and a fresh start and all that bullshitty jazz, I slapped on some yoga pants and uggs and dragged my ass to the grocery store instead of walking to John’s cafe. Thinking I should be out in public was mistake #1. Not getting those fluffy biscuits from John’s was mistake #2. I think they have magical powers.
So anyway, I get to the grocery store and grab one of those small baskets. I’m not sure why I thought I could fit all of the things I needed in there. Hungover/still drunk shopping COMMENCE! Let’s go to the produce section and be HEALTHY! Apples! tomatoes! avocados! bananas! rhubarb! eggplant! I’m so colorful and healthy!
I then decided coconut water was absolutely the next step to curing this horrid hangover. So there I was, trying to drink the supposed nectar of the gods from a cardboard box with that stupid silver flap as the only opening, when I realized I loathe coconut water. We’re talking that weird burp sensation followed by the waterfall of gushing mouth saliva that leads to projectile vomiting.
Since I was NOT about to start my new year with a clean up on aisle 3 call, i did what any normal hungover 26 year old homeless looking person would do. I opened a carton of animal cookies, started eating those, and kept shopping. If you think I didn’t finish the coconut water you are also wrong. It was $1.99. Bastards. I had become the person I hate. The wandering, aloof shopper, squinting her way through the aisles, drinking a beverage and muching cookies out of that little circus purse the animal crackers come in. That’s class people. Pure class.
I made it through the chips/popcorn and breakfast items aisle before I ran out of room in that stupid little handheld basket. Frozen foods was pretty much all I had left. Easy right? No.
Do you know how delicious bagel bites look when you are still heavily under the influence? Almost as good as taquitos and bertolli.
By the time I was teetering to the cash register I realized I needed toilet paper. This was actually probably the best thing that happened all morning. In the paper goods section. I had an epiphany. As the rays of sunlight broke through the haze, I realized I had no idea what the fuck i was buying.
Leaving random vegetables and frozen products there seemed totally logical at the time. I’m pretty sure they keep security cameras in Kroger, so I hope they got a good laugh out of the paranoid girl with a ratty pony tail stealthily looking around before shoving RHUBARB into some paper towels and running.
At this point it was becoming apparently clear that I needed to go home. Like right then. So I high tailed it to the self check out. Of course, I forgot to mention I had to buy a new razor because I left mine at my parents’ house 3 days before and my underarms were becoming quite French. You’re welcome for the details. Well that little gem on plastic and metal blades had a device in the packaging that sets off the alarms. Under normal circumstances, I probably would have realized the giant box outside of the smaller packaging would have said device, but I didn’t. So yeah. I got one final moment in the spotlight as the awkward bagger boy shuffled through my bags and gagged on my scent of after morning booze and hangover sweats.
On the way home, I became increasingly paranoid as I realized i should definitely not be driving. I was not okay. I was beyond not okay. I was like a wounded gazelle who somehow escaped the lion (It’s okay, I don’t really understand the analogy either).
I went home, unloaded the groceries, and collapsed onto the couch only getting up to use the bathroom or get more pita bread. Thank you universe for twitter and Toddlers and Tiaras.
Around 5:30 I started to feel human again, so I jumped on the bandwagon for a new year and went to the gym! GO ME!
No. I tried to run, did a dramatic flailing move where I nearly fell off the treadmill, which is truly terrifying after watching my sister’s hair get caught in one when we were little, and resorted to walking for 45 minutes – the minimum amount of time I feel appropriate before leaving – because, you know, I was obviously really concerned about being embarrassed on Sunday.
You’ll all be happy to know that I swore off drinking after that. It lasted 3 1/2 days. Happy new year.