Tuesday, April 01, 2008

The Shits

By Pauly
Hollyweird, CA

Note to self... never drive from Las Vegas to LA with a hangover.

The amazing thing is that I made great time... under four hours. The damage happened on Sunday night. Senor, Turtle, and Derek had all left Las Vegas and headed back to the east coast. I was by myself on Sunday night, unmotivated to go to the Strip or anywhere else but Red Rock where I had been staying.

I won money playing poker, betting on the NBA, and at Pai Gow (a game where I usually lose my shirt). I also had a stack of free drink tickets that I got from the sports book. Derek had a bunch that he didn't use and gave them to me. Alas, I went down to the sports book bar and drank heavily... for free.

I also met a high end escort who was playing video black jack. She looked like a younger version of Jami Gertz. She told me that she was not a prostitute and that she was a companion to elderly gentlemen. They'd take her out to dinner and shows around town. Of course, I only half-believed her. In reality, she was a hustler and bilked the old rich guys. More power to her.

She asked me what I did. I lied and told her that I managed an Aussie indie rock band. She asked me the name and I made it up on the spot. I don't recall too much of the conversation except that bit.

I rarely drink by myself these days, particularly in Las Vegas. I probably should have not had the last three or four drinks, because those put me over the edge.

The drinking part was compounded by the fact that I got up super early on Monday when I should have been sleeping off my bender. A wake up call shook me out of bed and I shuffled downstairs for a quick breakfast before I went back to the room for some work. I got up early to watch the Yankees home opener scheduled for 10am PT.

At first, the game was in a rain delay before they eventually canceled the game. I wasted a couple of hours - when I could have been sleeping. That would come back to haunt me later in the night.

I checked out of my hotel room and met up with Schecky for lunch at Agave, a trendy Mexican eatery across the street from Red Rock. We caught up on life and shared stories about our recent trips... mine to Langerado and his to spring training. We also discussed my future at this year's WSOP.

I was struggling through lunch, but didn't think it was too bad. I have had worse hangovers. We checked out a house nearby that Schecky was considering renting for the WSOP. It had a sweet pool.

After my meeting with Schecky I headed down to see my buddy Friedman. I took a scenic route to Blue Diamond and got lost due to heavy construction. All of the new housing subdivisions near Blue Diamond looked the same. I originally thought that Las Vegas was a gridded city, so I assumed that I could make my way down main streets... except that there were random points where streets ended and an empty desert lot greeted me. I eventually found my way.

I hung out with Friedman and JW for a couple of hours before it was time to make the trek back to California. I was on the highway by 5:15pm and luckily avoided any rush hour out of the city.

At one point I thought that I had to take a dump and stopped at a sketchy rest stop in Bat County somewhere in between Barstow and Baker. It was a false alarm and I drove another two hours with the anxiety that I might have to pull over at any moment and shit my brains out.

There were a slew of cops on the road so I managed my speed. I had the cruise control on 10 mph above the limit. I didn't stop for food or gas because I wanted to get back to Hollyweird as fast as I could. I feared that if I stopped, then I would lose all of my adrenaline. I was tired, hungover, and constipated. At least I had some good tunes to listen to along the way.

I pulled off the I-10 and eventually made my way to Nicky's apartment. I left my stuff in her car and burst into the apartment. Nicky and Showcase were watching TV and I headed right for the bathroom. The result was something similar to Paul Finch on the shitter in American Pie.

Yes, I busted ass and it smelled like a small animal had died. All of that liquor and bad food that I ate in Las Vegas had toasted my stomach. I wanted to die instantly because I was afraid to fart without shitting myself.

I crawled into be shortly before 10pm. Nicky brought me a bottle of Perrier. Aside from drinking a liter of bottle water, I had nothing else in my system from 12:30pm on Monday until 11:30am on Tuesday.

I passed out for a bit but then starting at 2am, I'd wake up every hour on the hour. It was eerie. I'd roll over and glance at the clock. 2:03am. 3:05am. 4:09am. 5:01am. 6:03am.

By sunrise, I crawled out to the couch to read my email and medicate myself with bingers. Every twenty minutes I'd rush off to the bathroom in an ugly bout of explosive diarrhea. I was shocked that I still had something left inside of me since at that point, I had not eaten any food in 18 hours.

I barely had enough energy to read email and post a couple of things. I crafted an April Fools Joke on Coventry called Phish Reunion 2.0. And I wrote a dark piece on Tao of Poker called Ship of Fools. I didn't think it was dark when I wrote it - I simply just wrote down the internal chatter inside my head. When Nicky read it she commented that it was one of my vintage dark side of Pauly posts.

Nicky and I headed to O'Groats for brunch. I barely touched the French Toast but I ate all four pieces of bacon. I felt a little better when we got back to the apartment, but I was still zapped. The Las Vegas bender had done a lot of damage to my body. Heck, the last ten weeks have been crazy. I have not partied that hard in a while. I'm looking forward to a break from the party scene during April.

I sat on Nicky's couch and caught up on the last two episodes on John Adams on HBO. I didn't like the first episode, but the last three have been much better. I slowly re-hydrated myself as the one time fear of me farting and shitting myself by accident had slowly evaporated.

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