Gala - Apparently Latin for Hurtful Next Morning

We had a “gala” event for The Crucible on Saturday night. What’s included in a “gala” event you ask, where people spend $30 for a ticket that is normally $12-15? We were very much wondering the same thing. I assumed it meant that after the show, we as a cast go out and blow the audience members.

But alas, no; for $30, the audience got free wine and beer and snacks, and if they wanted to, they got to stay after and have a talk back with the cast and director.

So after the audience got to ask questions of this enormous cast, where one of us likened being a judge during the Salem witch trials to being the president of his condo board (!?!), I got drunk.

I started off drinking a beer during the talk back. I then moved on to another beer and to finishing two large glasses of wine that one of the actresses deemed as not so good. A group of us moved on to a local bar –

- this was after three of us were leaving the theater and found a guy passed out in the doorway. This is not strange in an urban setting, but there was something about the guy’s blank and open eyed stare that spoke of something not good. One of the actresses called a local detox clinic where they sent over medical personnel to check on him and get him into a bed.-

-where I proceeded to drink whiskey. Yeah, I’ll do that. That was all fine and well, but as last call crept up on us way too quickly, a theater near by was chosen as a place to go drink away some of the gala leftovers. More beer, more wine…

Now, I’d like to take a moment to say that I have learned my lesson about mixing alcohols; a few times. I’m usually pretty good at not doing it, but occasionally I think that I’m stronger than dirt. It took years, years I say, to learn that me and Jose Cuervo are not friends.

I’ve definitely been drunker than I was on Saturday night, but this turned into one of the top five worst hangovers. I woke up in a bad place come Sunday morning. One of those headaches that just make you queasy and a stomach doing it’s best to rage against the system. But to top that off, I was sweating, insanely. It wasn’t particularly warm, but I was dripping sweat, and trying my damndest to chuck up the ill advised 4 in the morning sojourn to Jack in the Box wasn’t helping. I laid down, shaking and thinking to myself that it was going to be a painful show tonight.

Apparently the god of hangovers felt bad for me, for after a fitful 40 minute nap, I woke up like a new man. I wasn’t going to do jumping jacks or anything, but I realized that I also wasn’t going to have to spend a chunk of the day moaning on the couch and trying to keep down baby sips of Gatorade.

Thank you god of hangovers, this makes 2018 that I owe you.