Things to do in Denver When You’re Dead — the Very Nearly Lost Weekend
December 5th, 2004I write this so that those who follow might not suffer the pains that I did. This account could possibly destroy whatever regard my wife holds for me, but I have to share. For the kids.
Prologue:
My long-time friends Jon & Roger suggested a boys weekend, wherein Roger and I would fly to Denver to visit with Jon as his wife and their baby were visiting family out of state. I had a couple of reservations, as fairly recently, my family has been through a lot and I didn’t want to strand Heather or make her life more stressful than it already is. She assured me that I deserved to go and that she wanted me to hang with the boys.
Friday
Depart Salt Lake City International Airport (yes, international) after work. I’m a little hammered from the busy work week, but Roger hasn’t played with an iPod, so I let him peruse the library. We had a good time playing the built-in music quiz game. It’s pretty hard with 32 gigabytes of music.
Alcohol intake: 1.5 ounces Jim Beam and Pepsi (United only serves Pepsi products).
Jon takes us to a Mexican restaurant where I have a nice burrito and we catch up.
Alcohol intake: 2 beers.
While the burrito has soaked up the alcohol just fine, things are starting to go. Like vision.
One of the biggest draws to go to Denver wasn’t to just see Jon. It was to see the famed Horsey Bar. The Horsey Bar is the basement of Jon’s house. The Horsey Bar came with the stools.
Jon is the Sheriff of the Horsey Bar. He is proud.
There are things to do in the Horsey Bar. Like listen to vinyl. Jon had an Elvira album on vinyl. I played it for about 24 seconds. Then the bourbon started.
One of the things that goes along with alcohol is smoking. We were not allowed to smoke in the Horsey Bar. We went outside and became the sad people you see in the freezing cold outside your place of employ, huddled and ingesting their nicotine fix. It is cold in Denver at 2am in the middle of winter.
Usually, Jon is the modest drinker in the group. Tonight, he pulled out the stops and poured a boatload. You might notice that Jon is holding a jigger, but foregoing that and just pouring. Also, we ran out of ice. That is snow in the glass.
Alcohol intake: 4 double bourbon/rocks, 1 tequila shot and 2 ouzo shots. Good friends would not have allowed me to consume the ouzo. Ouzo is, in retrospect, the turning point. I also made an attempt at a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, but stopped about 1 third the way through because I hadn’t had a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale in some years. I forgot how heavy it is. I apparently also forgot that I was wasted and should have stopped after the second bourbon. The brain doesn’t work so good at 3:41 in the morning.
Saturday
A day that shall live in infamy. Not in my years of drinking have I experienced a hangover so painful and shameful. We had planned to head up to Copper Mountain to enjoy the snow… As we didn’t retire to our respective bed chambers until nearly 4am, we didn’t awaken until 9 or so and at that time, I experienced three separate horrific bathroom related incidents. I will spare the details, as they are too shocking and wrong to recount save that two involved regurgitation (and a reappearance of part of the burrito from last night) and one involved the moving of the bowels. One should not drink beyond ones ability to recover. Especially when one should know better. For the record, Jon and Roger were also slowed, albeit less so than I.
Jon made a great breakfast that I could not eat, due to said bathroom incidents. I did consume two bites of dry toast.
I went downstairs, past the vile smelling Horsey Bar and collapsed in the guest bedroom. At this point, I figured if I slept in the car on the way up to Copper Mountain, I’d probably recover enough to ride the pow. This was the first main delusion of the day.
It took me one hour to get my pants on. It took the others a little less time to load the car and stow the gear. I hobbled upstairs and Jon gave me a bottle of Gatorade with the admonition to consume it by the time we arrived at Copper Mountain. We left the house after noon. We would drive 90 minutes so that 2 hours of snow fun could be had, enjoy some apres ski time and then drive the 90 minutes back to Denver. Insane, even without the hangovers.
While I did sleep most of the way up, my condition had not improved and I elected to stay prone in the back seat. It was a sunny day, near as my alcohol-poisoned mind could make out, so I was actually quite warm. I slept until 3:30 pm and then stayed prone while drinking the rest of the Gatorade. It seemed that it was staying down, so I made my way to the village where the apres ski activities were set to commence. Upon arriving, I’m feeling like I have made it through the worst of the day and that it is time for solids. I order fries and a water. I’m still a little woozy, but I brave a few fries and call the boys to tell them that I’m alive. They call back and inform me that they’ll be down. At this point in the call, I put my head down to answer Roger’s well-meaning questions about my health and realize that I have underestimated the power of the alcohol. I realize that my stomach is still rejecting solids, and that I’ve got to search for an exit, so that the contents of my stomach can escape the last remnants of the vile ouzo. I end the conversation with Roger and bolt for the door, finding a snow-covered planter just outside. My body retches and I spray the snow with fries and water. I retch again, not caring who sees me and the rest of the fries and water are gone. There is a vague hint of the Gatorade. As this is happening I realize that it must be weird to see a grown man throwing up in public. Somewhere in the middle of it all I say “shit” and then walk back inside as if I just nonchalantly stepped out to look for somebody and grab a stack of napkins to wipe my face.
I’m certain that several people saw me ralph. If, perchance, any of you saw a paranoid geek with bad hair and a raggedy-ass beard spewing bits of potato on the snow at Copper Mountain, I apologize profusely. My legal staff will be sending you papers of reparation shortly.
Roger and Jon arrive and offer their condolences. They enjoy the rest of the fries. Their arrival bouys my spirits. My intake at this point consists of 4 glasses of water, sipped very slowly.
After an hour or so, we head back to Denver, me asleep in the back. By the time we made it home, showered (separately) and got dressed to get dinner, I was feeling better and hungry. We got dinner at a Thai/Vietnamese place and headed downtown to a great bar called The Thin Man. On our way home, we hit Wendy’s. Roger gets a kid’s meal and I get fries and a Frosty. We go home and watch some TV and call it a night. There is no Horsey Bar tonight.
Alcohol intake: None. I drink water the remainder of the night.
Sunday
Today is a better day. I love this photo of Roger. I order a giant breakfast of french toast, hash browns and bacon. It is good. I do not see it again.
We have a discussion about how companies use foreign manufacturing and marketing to build their brand. All they are is a label. They don’t make anything. Places like Banana Republic, Restoration Hardware and West Elm all slap their tags/logos/branding on generic stuff and then market it to various economic segments. This discussion extends to Wal-Mart and how their low-price model may not work in countries/geographies that the wages are so low. I like this shot because Jon is talking with his hands.
After breakfast we head to the airport and arrive home safe. Seeing Heather, Leta and Chuck is awesome. I love my friends, but it’s great to be home and hangover free.
Epilogue:
I feel, at this writing, that the Sunday night feeling I have is exactly like that of a college weekend, with less booze. I’m tired, I had a good time and I’m facing an intense week ahead. I suppose I should come up with a great line about lessons and learning, but frankly, I’m too wasted.
Thanks are owed to Heather for letting me have this indulgence as well as Jon and Roger for helping me during the second worst day of my life. God, it’s good to be home. o
Welcome Back from the second worst day.
Which was the first worst?
Or should I just check the archives?
The worst day can be read about here:
http://www.dooce.com/archives/daily/07_19_2004.html
ohh, when you said ouzo that said it all. both ouzo and aquavit are the kiss of death for me. I have yet to reach the age of reason where I know better in regards to limits, but those occasions get further and further apart. Hope you are feeling better soon!
I really thought you were schizophrenic for a second. I was getting confused with the “Jon was doing this and Jon says this”. Then I remembered that my boyfriend thinks it’s funny when he talks in the third person, so I figured maybe it was just a guy thing.
Until I got far enough that there were pictures and I congratulated myself on being an idiot.
the three best parts of this post are:
(separately)
I do not see it again.
and
the fact that you both recalled and related the theme of the conversation the day after, which conversation not only reveals that you were feeling better, but relates “the liver may have suffered but the brain seems to be coming around again”.
thanks for making me laugh three times in five minutes.
We should form a club. I wish I COULDN”T relate, and yet, I do. I used to be a champ drinker, but since OPERATION TOKYO DEATH FISH, my gut hasn’t been the same. Case in point: It’s Monday. In Australia. I’m at WORK. And I still get the fuckin’ sweaty heavies left over effects of Mr. Jack D and a pack of smokes from Friday. Aging is a tragic comedy at best.
the bad thing about ouzo is that, when you happen to see the food again, the ouzo-taste comes back. for about 5 days. yuck. sounds like a tough weekend. also a good time - “daddy’s night out”. oh ja, and happy nikolaus ;o)
Lightweight.
Thanks for the laugh.
Dude, ouzo is never a good idea. I’m pretty sure it’s Greek for Jagermeister.
All I can say is been there, done that, glad you feel better.
The best thing about having a weekend like that is: when you finally do feel better, don’t you feel so amazingly healthy and normal?
Wow, bourbon snowcone intake yields potato/gatorade yack snowcone output. I will remember this.
Glad you’re feeling better.
When I got to the ouzo shot part, I started slowly shaking my head, for I am wise in the ways of liquor. Ouzo is ALWAYS the turning point! When will mankind learn this crucial lesson?
I just can’t believe that you ordered fries again on Saturday night when you had previously sprayed them into a planter just hours prior.
I admire that, actually.
It usually takes me a looong time to get up the nerve to eat something that I “saw”, um, twice, even if it wasn’t the actual food which made me sick in the first place.
I feel your pain. There is nothing more painful than driving up to San Fran on a drunken binge with friends only to find every hotel and flea infested motel is booked. The three idiots (my two friends and I) were losing what was left of our stomach between cars at a motel six in Oakland on a rainy night, knowing we were going to have to turn around and head back to LA. Our sober friend was in a very sad spot having to pull over every five miles on the way back to LA. Very bad day.
I have this doctor friend. She is completing her Ph.D. in anesthesiology at Harvard. She told me this story about a time years before where her and her fiancÈ along with a few other med students drove down to Miami Beach for a springbreak-like vacation. Knowing there’d be binge drinking and therefore a hangover, they packed with them IV bags.
Insert needle into arm, let the liquid flow.
I should have gotten drunk with her more often. I imagine this technique would take care of things right quick.
Maybe. Who knows.
oh my gawd - I laughed so hard I spewed coffee
Thanks for the reminder of why I don’t drink anymore . . . though for just a second, before the second reappearance of food, I longed for a shot of tequila 
despite everything, at least the beard is lookin’ GOOD!
i think the menthol cigarettes might have played a significant hand in some of this…i can’t imagine anything more vomit-producing than the taste of bourbon mixed with minty tobacco. bleech.
now tell yourself you will never, ever do this again. until the next time you do it again, natch.
Ouzo is never wise. I feel your pain.
Just a thought, do you think the high altitude in denver made the situation worse? I’ve lived in Boulder and the first couple times I went drinking were torture, your blood really starts to thin at that height.
i think you just cured me from wanting to try ouzo. thanks for saving me from that hell, man!
Bastard. Now my coffee smells like ouzo.
It’s always the ouzo, man.
My worst hangover was after a binge in Vegas. And I had to board a plane the next day. My cure - Dramamine. It knocked the hangover right out and I made the flight without a single bathroom incident. I still rely on it today, plane or no plane.
thanks for a great laugh this morning
hangovers and kids - not a good match
…and thanks for letting us know that you did not shower together, although it would have been an interesting visual
I’m glad you had a good time. Alcohol is your friend. Consume more. Be happy. Certain brands of booze get you hot chicks and friends. Anyone who says otherwise is a loser. Drink more booze. Be happy.
So sayeth the Duffman.
This is why I start with Ouzo right out of the gate, and make mild shifts to whiskey (neat) all night. Always end the night with a bucket of water and greasy diner meal, like eggs/hash browns/toast/bacon.
It’s an equation that works for me.
I agree with Danielle. Always eat after a large amount of alcohol. Particularly PIZZA PEROGIES, which only taste good while you are smashed. And a lot of gatorade.
Here’s another fun way to experiment with near death experiences. Take a trip with pals to Memphis in mid July. Ingest a lot of sushi, a little wasabi and a bunch of Sake. Go to a bar to see a great band. Engage in chicken dance with strangers in drunken excitement. Get overheated and woozy. Run outside to get fresh air- which is in fact not fresh, but rather swamp-like and smelly.
Proceed to redecorate side of bar with sushi/wasabi/sake mix.
Repeat.
This is the Rule:
“Beer before liquor, never sicker.
Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.”
Of course, after that many drinks it doesn’t much matter.
As a former social smoker, it was my experience that every hangover was exponentially worse depending on the amount of cigarettes consumed. Glad you’re feeling better.
Now I understand.
The first worst day was unintentional, and this second worst was caused by ouzo and altitude.
Being able to write about it means that you survived on both occasions.
If it were me, I wouldn’t be looking for a third time, charm doesn’t seem to have a place.
Gawd you and Heather make me laugh. I KNEW this was the 2nd worst, having been a long time reader of dooce.com. I’ve been there many times, but never tried Ouzo and now I have no reason to. Glad to hear you’re back in the warm and cozy arms of your family now! Me thinks they missed ya lots!
I feel a little hungover now from reading your post…thanks for the pictures. Fun times.
Blame it on the beard Jon, all that extra hair to let down! All things considered, you deserved the indulgence.
No one believes me… but a wise woman once told me to drink Metamucil after a night of drinking to help prevent hangover hell. Damned if it doesn’t work.
Ouzo is fermented black jelly beans and it makes me wish I were Greek so I’d have known to AVOID THIS LIQUID AT ALL COSTS.
My hangovers used to last all morning and now that I’m in my 30’s…they last all f-ing day. This is probably why I avoid ouzo. Well that and it tastes like burning.
Glad you survived and had a good break. I love those breaks.
Next time, assuming there is a next time, try some chaser. You have to take it as directed though. Two when you start, two when you stop. I put it to the test one night and woke up feeling waaaaaay better than I should have.
Oooh, Jon - this story made my belly spin and my head ache! I actually felt your pain.
The worst for me was the time I woke up sitting in the shower in my clothes and had no idea how I GOT THERE. I had also flooded the bathroom. It was GREAT!
I’m fairly certain that if there is a hell and there is a Devil.
…..if you took a peek inside The Prince of Darkness’ liquor cabinet
You’d most definitely find ouzo. And Tequila. And Gammeldansk.
Your story, and many of my nights out, remind me of the song, “Mexican Cousin” by Phish.
Ouzo is the absolute worst. It makes Jagermeister look like ice water. I had exactly one Ouzo experience in my life, when I was 17, which ended with me wetting my pants and then passing out in a puddle in the pouring rain after attempting for a full 20 minutes,and failing, to unlock the front door. That was 27 years ago, and the very idea of Ouzo still makes me want to dry heave.
You fail to mention that by spewing outside of Endo’s, you ruined Roger’s and/or my chances at scoring with Dru.
Ha! Awesome. Hangovers are hellish, but so fun to tell people about once they’re over.
My personal favorite was the time I drank two pints of cheap-assed tequila ó BY MYSELF, SOMEHOW ó marveled at the fact that I didn’t feel drunk, then realized I was indeed D-R-U-N-K when I stood up from the table and immediately collapsed. Then I spent the night puking into a foul, foul toilet as my drinking partner vomited into the wastebasket while sitting next to me. In the tub. With water in it. While still clothed.
I don’t know, man. I was 19.
óC.
I once drank three Sierra Nevadas and slept for nine days straight. That stuff is heavy, like 10W-30 motor oil with a high alcohol content.
Urgh. I know exactly how you felt. I am the same way with Tequila. By time it makes its appearance at a party, I am usually drunk enough to forget how it disagrees with me. Glad you survived!
What I want to know is… why are three brawny, brainy, hirsute manly-men smoking Benson & Hedges Lights???
Glad you’re feeling better.
…forgot the “100s” part. Good God.
You didn’t mention the 10 mile airplane taxi ride in DEN airport. How could you miss such an important detail?
I truly believe there must be amnesiacal chemicals added to alcohol - who would go through something like that more than once?!
In this sentence, “Tonight, he pulled out the stops and poured a boatload.” I noticed that you used the word ‘Boatload’ instead of buttload.
You must be an aristocrat.
Glad you are home… safe, sound and better.
On New Years Eve in 2000 (I was 16, yeah I’m young), my parents went to stay in a hotel about 1/2 hour away. I invited some people over and we started making screwdrivers. After awhile, the screwdrivers turned into a shot of orange juice (which was actually Sunny Delight- California Stlye) and the rest vodka. I don’t remember a lot of that night, and somehow I ended up out in Winfield (which is in the middle of nowhere) at some girl’s house. I was throwing up the whole night and was hungover for 2 days. I haven’t touched vodka since. Bleehhhhh.
Oh, yeah, and my parents? They were thrilled.
Yah gotta do these things in order to remember not to do them. It’s less a learning curve than it is a learning wall. You know, the one you ram your head against so it’ll feel good when you stop.