The Jesus of my Hangover

I have learned a lot about myself in the past couple of years and one of the most surprising things I've learned is how little I like to go out and drink/party. I really don't mind being with a couple of friends and drinking wine. If I go out to eat I might have a martini or margarita, but I try to avoid going out at all costs.

The most obvious thing I hate about going out is the need to get black-out drunk. I might not need to get that drunk, but if I'm going to be comfortable around hundreds of people I don't know I'd rather be so drunk that I can't remember any of them the next morning. There are several problems with getting that intoxicated and the biggest is that I have no filter. I literally say just about anything and if I have a secret that I absolutely cannot tell anybody it usually gets told to everybody. Unfortunately Raissa refuses to help shut me up because I insist on making sure everybody knows what my big secret is.

The next problem being that drunk is that I usually look back at my actions from the previous night and realize that I was running around like a little fairy princess whose mission was to embarrass my sober-future self. People insist that I'm not that embarrassing...but I know they're lying.

I still have a huge issue of knowing when to stop drinking. It's been a long time since I've embarrassed myself and earned the nick-named "The bathroom boy" (I was in the bathroom for 3 hours...puking), but sometimes I still get home after a long night, pass out, wake up the next morning and find the contents of last night's late-night McDonalds run either next to my bed or (as in the case of this weekend) on our couch.

The worst aspect, by far, of drinking like a fish is that wonderful feeling you get the next morning. Like being hit with a brick several times inside your brain--you still feel like throwing up but you don't want to (it'll ruin your teeth), you don't want to see people (they're loud and hit you with more bricks), and you don't want to move (incase the hangover fairy, who decided to bless you with the pain of a thousand bricks being pelted at you, decides to throw more bricks your way).

There is only one cure for my hangovers seems to be breakfast burritos. You may not think that breakfast burritos are pretty much the Jesus of mexican food...but they are my only salvation from the sins I committed the night before. They look like death when your hungover (much like Jesus was dead for a while) but you accept it (much like you accept Jesus) and you eat it (much like catholics think they eat Jesus...but more in the fashion that Mary Magdalene 'ate' Jesus). Breakfast Burritos--the Jesus of my Hangover.