Just as everyone who drinks has a drunk personality type, those of us who drink to excess also experience our drunk personality’s bloated and dehydrated evil sister-in-law—the hungover personality type.
In Part I we looked at The Teetotaler, The Hypochondriac, and Misery Loves Company. Here are three more:
The Strategist. Between the cases of coconut water she gets delivered to her apartment, the multiple bottles of liver- and energy-restoring vitamins and ibuprofen perpetually stocked in her medicine cabinet, the extra-large aloe juice in the fridge and the raw apple cider vinegar on the counter—it’s obvious this isn’t her first rodeo. Well, that plus she’s still standing after half a bottle of Laphraoig and five Maker’s, neat. Plus whatever she’s got in those two purse flasks. She drinks a glass of water for every 2 ounces of booze, eats carbs before she hits the hay, and whips up eggs and a banana for breakfast the next morning. At the bar she passes out packets of Emergen-C and drinkwel vitamins like an aspiring college drug dealer who wants desperately to be popular gives out Molly at a keg party. Call her in the morning when you’re dealing with the worst hangover of your life—mama knows what’s up. Then please grow a pair and deal with it like a grown-up.
The Catholic. The last thing he remembers was thinking—knowing—it was The Best Idea, Ever to call (or was it text?) someone. Someone… The ex. The boss. The grandmother. He’ll find evidence of 22 minute-plus calls and misspelled, emoticon-filled texts. His repentance takes the form of the Mass Text to Everyone From Last Night’s Party to apologize for whatever he might have said or done or thought and (with quivering voice) beg stories—oh god, did I remember to tip the bartender? Did I projectile vomit on the bar? Did I stab you with my house keys? And how the fuck did I get home, anyways? His afternoon is ordering flowers for his significant other—I’m sorry I got up in the middle of the night and peed in your lingerie drawer. And of course poor grandma, who’d never heard such “sailor’s speech” peppered in before with so many loud proclamations of familial adoration. Don’t bother inviting him to brunch, he’s too busy self-flagellating and signing up to foster blind elderly cats to contemplate food.
The Machine. After the after-party there’s the after-after party. And after the after-after party there’s the after-after-after party. And after that—there’s the Machine. This isn’t a hungover personality type as much as a continuation of the drunk personality type by the same name. And The Machine may be the only one who has all the answers—after all, it’s impossible to be hungover if you never stop drinking.