little sarah Big World

Tag: hangovers

Right Here, Right Now


Early Morning, Hungover, Anxious, Can’t Sleep


I Made Something for You

in Palm Springs

in Palm Springs

So I will go on writing poems
Even if you don’t
Hoping one day
You will find the little collection
I have made for you

And smile.

I will go on writing poems
Even if you don’t
Because I don’t really care
If you write poems

I just love to read you.

I will go on writing poems
(Even if you don’t)
For the same reason
I go for runs
or long walks
The same reason
I write letters
and blogs
The same reason
I play music
or laugh
or dance
or sing

For the same reason I get up in the morning:

I love you.


¡Hola de España! no. 4‏

New to this? Catch up here:

¡Hola de España!

¡Hola de España! #2

¡Hola de España! no.3

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Hola, no time for salutations. I have a lot to fill you in on and so little time so it’ll be brief and (sorry Mike) probably not very funny.

-San Sebastian was great. There was cuddling and topless sunbathing and hamburgers, though not in that order. Except I did get my shoes dirty and broke my mom’s camera. (Hi, mommy! 🙂 You can have mine now, no worries). Oh, but everyone wanted to talk to us in English, and I will not look on the bright side of this (Kevin): I don’t think they wanted to help, I think they doubted my mad-sweet Spanish-talkin’ abilities.

-Laura from Madrid came to visit in Oviedo and we walked all the way out of town to go to a carnival/concert/party, which was great, but then we only had two hours of sleep before that day’s excursion, which was canoeing down a river. Laura was Team Resaca (“hangover”) with Dashiel and I was team Aviator with Kevin, but then later we were Team Turn-Around. The twins were Team Desnuda (“naked”). It was fun, and I totally didn’t even feel like throwing up from my resaca at all…once we got into the water.

-The program ended, and I definitely didn’t even get to go to that, because I had the worst resaca of all time, except that Fernando says it was probably an actual illness made worse by drinking the night before. So we’ll go with that. Like, I couldn’t even keep down water. And so then I missed the last day of school, which means I missed getting my diploma and missed the goodbye fiesta, and I missed saying goodbye to everyone and all of my teachers, and of course it was a really lovely day so I missed one last chance of playing violin on the street. Oh, and I won an award/scholarship for making the most of my time in Spain for learning purposes. Sweet, eh? Except I missed receiving it. I AM BATHING IN REGRET AND DESPAIR RIGHT NOW, AND THIS ISN’T ME BEING DRAMATIC, THIS IS LITERALLY HOW I FEEL!

-Oh, yeah, so I played violin in the streets 4 times and averaged about 30 euro/hour which is $50/hour, which is AWESOME. In total I made over 100 euro and I’m so American for telling you about the money I made. Or jewish. Or both. Also I recorded a song in a studio with a Spanish band, for which I was handsomely paid. Yeah, who’s doing these things? Because it doesn’t feel like me doing these things. I guess it’s like how last summer I built confidence through sports, except now it’s through music.

-Then I survived the Resaca of Death just enough to take a midnight-thirty bus to Madrid to meet Laura. That was last Saturday. So now I’m in Madrid, and crazy things have happened here, and here’s what they are:   

~Laura and I went shopping, because in July all of Europe goes on sale, and I mean that literally. It’s called “Rebajas” and seriously EVERY store has a sign in the window about it and everything is, like, half off, and I’m not sure why. People shop like animals. It was great.   

~MADRID WON THE EURO-CUP!!! And I watched it from Plaza de Colón, IN Madrid, and it was nuts, and Laura and I almost got stampeded to death when I fight broke out and this guy got a huge glass bottle smashed over his head and there was blood and panic and that was only, like, 15 minutes into the game. But then we moved, and then WE WON!!!!!!!!!!!!! And then all of Madrid partied all night, and we got a ride home from these guys we met and it was the scariest car-ride of my life and I had to keep thinking of new ways (in Spanish) to beg the driver to slow down. (Kevin: at one point I told him that I had ganas to live to see tomorrow)   

~Also we met these two guys who go to frickin’ CAMBRIDGE and one is Irish and one is from Madrid and they’re cool, and we met them on the bus and then ran into them after the game, which was like, a one-in-a-zillion-trillion odds type of thing. That was a lucky night, actually, because we made friends with the scary drivers, who just happen to live in the same suburb as Laura, and we ran into our bus friends, and Spain WON, and we linked up with Dashiel and Dylan, and I found 20 euro in the street, which gave me enough money to call my bank and tell them to unlock my card (AGAIN. THOSE BITCHES. I HAD TO BE LIKE “SORRY TO BOTHER YOU AGAIN, BUT I’M STRANDED IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY WITH NO MONEY, AND THAT MIGHT BE YOUR FAULT. THREE TIMES.”)   

~And the Irish guy’s name is Michael, and I’m going to Alicante with him, because his family has a house there and I can stay for free. Huzzah!

The end for now. I miss you all. I hope you’re having a horrible time without me.

-love, Sarah

p.s. Also, Mike sent me a package that contained: a koosh ball, a politically correct deck of cards for “war,” a Tiger Beat magazine, and a Guns-n-Ammo magazine. So he’s my new most favorite.  

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I would totally not say that thing about talking about money because I’m American and Jewish if I wrote this today. Also I notice that I was a lot more exhuberant back then. Ah, youth. Stay tuned for more!

Pub Crawling


Pub Sneaking-Away


Why I’m the Biggest Aguafiestas of All Time

Last night I did a thing that I would not typically do–I went to a pub crawl in a foreign country with a sizeable group of Americans.

Normally I avoid Americans in foreign countries. Normally I don’t go to pub crawls. But…when in Rome…

Mostly I went because I had an itchy feeling, wanting to be out of the house. And I wanted to meet Josh, a friend of Brett’s from Peace Corps, with whom I’ll be travelling.

He was nice, and also Mike (who will apperently be travelling with us, as well) was nice. And Mike’s friends Tim and Dan were nice. I think they’ll be travelling with us? I didn’t verify that. I started to get anxious, the more menfolk that jumped aboard this backpacking adventure. It just seems like a lot of dudes. Too many dudes. And me.

Actually, I came away from last night with the impression that the Peace Corps is basically a do-gooder frat.

So…yeah. That’s not really my style. Nor is binge drinking with a side of peer pressure. I prefer to binge drink on my own terms, thank you.

I mean, I understand that the deal worked out between the pub crawl people and the bars is that the bars give us free shots, knowing that we will then buy several drinks. But maybe the pub crawl people shouldn’t have encouraged us to drink so much in the park before hitting the bars, eh? Or maybe I still reserve the right NOT to have a drink in my hand at all times and NOT to have the pub crawl organizer order a bunch of drinks, tell people to drink them, and then demand money. And it’s not my fault that it was a Sunday night and there were only six of us and therefore nobody was going to make much money.

Yeah…I got cranky. And drunk.

So I did what I do when I’ve had one too many and am just generally over the situation–I walked home. Without saying goodbye.

I walked miles and miles through Buenos Aires at night and then struggled with the door at Jose’s (damned foreign keys!) before collapsing into bed (but not without trying to read a bit first. Why do I think that I must read every single night before bed, no matter how late it is or how drunk I am?).

Then, this morning, I woke up with a raging hangover, counted last night’s drinks (EIGHT–something I should have been counting at the time), and tried to have a day.

I hate letting hangovers steal the better part of the next day.

I hate doing things that I don’t feel like doing, only to prove myself right and have to live with the regret.

I’m not sure how I feel about do-gooder frat boys. It certainly doesn’t bode well for the next few weeks…stay tuned…

Last Night -vs- This Morning


Life These Days

Last night was: Bikram yoga, groceries (fresh fruit, chocolate chips, coconut water), liquor store, stuffed bell peppers, gin and tonics with a side of Mad Men.

Which means this morning is : chard sauteed in soy sauce with sesame seeds, and fresh squeezed orange-lime juice. Detox.

Plus: a fried egg. Hangover.

Very proud of the stuffed peppers, though, so here’s a (vague) recipe:

Stuffed Bell Peppers (for 2)

-2 bell peppers

-1 cup cooked rice or some other whole grain (quinoa, etc.)

-1/3 c fake cream cheese

-2 tbsp olive tapenade

-some chard, cut into small strips

-1 fake sausage link (I like Field Roast or Tofurky), cut into slices, then slices cut into fourths

-nutritional yeast

Preheat oven to 425°F. Cut the tops off of your bell peppers and scrape or cut out the white parts inside. Microwave the cream cheese until it’s soft, then mix together with rice, olive tapenade, chard and fake sausage. Dollop/scoop/whatever rice mixture into bell peppers, then top with nutritional yeast. Roast in the oven for 20-30 minutes, until peppers become wrinkly and soft. Enjoy!

Happy Birthday to Me!


The Lessons I Never Learned

Today is my birthday, and that is a happy thing. I am one year older, one year closer to remembering that I can’t have 7 drinks on a Saturday night and feel fine the next day. Right? This is a lesson I will learn, eventually?

Because hangovers are NOT a happy thing, and yet I’ve devoted the past two Sundays almost exclusively to honoring them. Oops.

Today I am 26 years old and not even stressed about it. I’ve been working on embracing confrontation, on standing up for myself and fighting for what I want. So 26 seems promising. I had ridiculously high hopes for 25 (that being my favorite number and all…), and though it was certainly a year of growth, acceptance, and transformation, it was also kind of a lonely shit fest.

My hopes for 26 are more reasonable. It is more about steady change and movement.

I think Lindsey friend said it best when she said “I always think odd years are going to be awesome, but the even years are usually better.” TRUE.

Especially if you put a lot of value into numbers, which I DO.

Today is my birthday, I am 26 years old, and I have received many lovely, thoughtful gifts, chief among them thing homemade e-card from Kevin. All photos were taken by him, in Madrid, and…

…and the panda thing is a reference to Saturday night. Night of the 7 Drinks. Apparently, in a late night international phone call that I do not remember, I drunkenly lamented that I would “never be as cute as a panda bear.”

Aaand then I fell asleep on the phone.

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Oh, but that was back when I was still 25, Friends. Today I am 26, which means that last night I only had six drinks, and today I am only a little hung over. Totally different. Totally mature. Totally worth it: