When I was in college, I loved this women named Sabeen. We dated for awhile and then she went off to England (something about Oxford). She remains over there working still and I probably won't be normal again until she's back here. But she was the one who got me the "I hope I die soon" hangover.
I don't even remember the night honestly, I just woke up the next morning in bed with her and another guy (Again, don't know) and with a feeling like "If I don't leave now, I'm going to throw up on them and wake them up."
So I managed to dress and get out of the house before anyone woke up (or I puked) and got far enough down the street before I started vomiting. I must have had a red Gatorade or something because it was all red (but it wasn't blood), but the most demoralizing part was it was near this construction site and these guys hauling **** from the trucks are walking around me like I wasn't there. I'm alternative between dry heaves and this red syrupy **** thats getting in my beard, it had to be about 15 ****ing degrees out and these guys are just whistling past my dying ass.
I remember getting home and thinking "this woman might kill me." I think I was right.
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