2000-06-16

First Hangover

The above true life photograph is of yours truly, circa '91, in the throes of one my famous Undergraduate Theatre Major Hangovers. Take two or three cans of Natural Light, mix haphazardly with "Combat Juice" (3/4 of a two-liter bottle of generic cola mixed with grain alcohol), shake in the back seat of Annie's Hyundai Excel, and let fester until morning, about 20 minutes before having to attend an all-Sunday tech. rehearsal. Yeah! Isn't college fun?

Small wonder that my undergrad. alma mater saw fit to later eliminate the Theatre Department.

I'm taking a decidedly Uncle Bob-ian tone to this evening's diary, in the telling of the tale of My First Hangover.

It was a Saturday night, my freshman year ('88). I was at the tale end of the run of our production of You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown." Interestingly enough, I was playing Charlie Brown. Not a terrible stretch, really, given my mopey nature and already shaven head. I enjoyed the role. I liked the songs, liked my fellow castmates (particularly Susan, the impish junior Musical Theatre Major who played Lucy), and had always, in a weird way, empathized with the blockhead I was portraying. The only problem with the role was the unfortunate presence of my breasts.

Now, I am certainly no Jayne Mansfield, but Frick-n-Frack there posed a bit of a problem in successfully conveying the idea that I was an eight-year-old boy.

The costumer of the production tried a number of oversized sweaters, to no avail. "Well," she grunted, "guess you'll have to strap 'em down." She explained that I'd have to get myself an Ace bandage, and wrap myself up every night to hide my saucy curves.

Fine.

So, after one particularly trying evening (unresponsive audience, lizards in the dressing room), I came back to my dorm room, flopped onto my bed, and announced to my roommate, Katie, that I wanted to get wasted. Understand that heretofore, my only real drinking experience involved half a wine cooler. By God, though, tonight I was going to get wasted. So I marched next door to the room of the only other New Englander on the entire campus, a Lisa from Rhode Island -- notorious party girl -- and reiterated my intentions to her.

"Okay, Lees," she said, "wanna screwdrivahh?"

Good God Almighty. Those things went down like...like...orange juice and vodka. Before I knew it, I was happy about that show, I washh happy about friggin' Charlieee Brown, I wassshhh happy about having to strap my guddamntitsdown ever' night becuzzz I'm an performer, o-kay?

Lunge across room. Call Paul and Becky. Paul and Becky can you come over and play Pictionary? Cool. Okay.

See Resident Assistant down the hall. Hi Donna. It's pretty cool that you can just go out on a Saturday and know that we're all gonna behave ourselves, right Donna?

Room spin. Gotta sit.

Knock on door. Who is it? It's Paul and Becky! What're you doing here? Oh, I DID?! Cool! Okay!

Try to play Pictionary. Cannot read card. Admit to Paul and Becky and Katie that I cannot read card. Pass out on bed.

Wake up feeling like wet coffee grounds. Katie above me waving saltines and Crystal Light in my face, "Wake uuuup, Liiiiiissssaaaaa, you have a matinee in an hour!"

Oh. Oh God.

Pain when I sit up. Pain to get dressed. I cannot even fathom the vertiginous wretching horror of winding that Ace bandage around my heaving bosom. Push the thought out of my head, and stagger to the theater.

Susan, the impish junior Musical Theatre Major who plays Lucy, is already in costume, pigtailed, rosy-cheeked, smoking a cigarette. "Jesus, Lees, you look like shit."

"I...I feel so awful, Susan."

"God. Are you sick?"

"I...I think I have a hangover." A sick thrill washes over me. Then it lapses back into garden-variety nausea.

Susan/Lucy rolls her eyes. "Big deal. I've got one, too." She flounces out, carrying her "Psychiatric Help 5 cents" sign like an ORDER.

Remember kids: don't try this at home.

lisamcc at 00:40:24

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