Showing posts with label Bad decisions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bad decisions. Show all posts

Monday, November 26, 2012

Holiday Hangover Prevention & Cures

Hangover Prevention Cures


Drinking to excess is bad. We all know that. It's painful, high in calories and often high in embarrassment as well. That said, the holidays are upon us and holidays bring parties, families, and stress. Throw it all together and you've got a super fantastic recipe for a hangover. Therefore I consider it my civic duty to share several tactics I've learned over the years to avoid and cure them. To be honest, I don't drink very much anymore* (despite my penchant for shiny barware, exciting bars and cocktail recipes) so several of these come straight from a doctor friend of mine who manages to have a vibrant social life despite working all the damn time, so they're tried and true.

Everyone knows the things you're supposed to do to prevent a hangover. Don't drink too much (duh), eat a meal heavy in carbs AND protein beforehand, and drink plenty of water. These work, but aren't always feasible. Although drinking a large glass of water with every drink is a really good and easy idea. So the rest of this blog entry is dedicated to those nights when prevention got thrown out with the twists and cherry stems.

1) Go out and buy a B vitamin supplement. Liquid is best, sublingual is ok, but regular tablets do next to nothing.

2) Before you go out, put the following items by your bedside or in your purse: an enormous glass of water, the vitamin B, 2 aspirin and a cracker or similiar small food item (preferably one that your cat won't eat. Which, if you are me, excludes popcorn, fruit and sourdough bread because Rue is a big, old freak).

3) When you wake up at the crack of dawn, in that weird in-between state where you're still drunk but already cranky, drink all of the water, then refill the glass for later. Eat the cracker, and then take the aspirin and the vitamin B. It's important to do it in that order because B vitamins can cause headaches if they hit an empty stomach. Go back to sleep.

That on its own will do wonders. But when you wake up later on, pinch one nostril closed, and take several deep, fast breaths into the other one. Do it on the other side. Then massage the sides of your nose and the front of your eye sockets, where your eyebrows are. Optional: nasal spray.

Everyone has their perfect hangover food, and it varies widely. The Boy, for example, starts every hungover morning by declaring, "living legend needs eggs." I tend to require carbs by the approximate truckload. I always say go with your gut when it comes to food, but here is a nutritionally perfect hangover breakfast, full of things that will replenish your system and prevent almost all of the terrible symptoms, so eat as many of these ingredients as is possible/pleasant.

Banana
Hearty white toast with butter and marmite
Scrambled eggs, salted
Optional: vegetable juice, wheatgrass shots, EmergenC, orange Gatorade.

I don't know why orange Gatorade is better than the other kinds, but the hangover Gods have spoken and it is so.


I hope this helps, and had at least a few tricks that were new to you. Did I miss any? Do you have any rituals that you swear by? Go forth and be merry. Hell, be overly merry if you want to.

*although if you remind me that I wrote those words when January 2nd rolls around I'll throw a leftover martini in your face.

Monday, February 27, 2012

FFF- In Which the Author....Oh, Dear God.

Today was the singular most hilarious day of my entire professional life, perhaps my life in entirety. And I have had some pretty hilarious days. I can only pray that my retelling is half as funny as the actual events that I am about to describe.

I'm writing this from a lovely hotel in Stuttgart, Germany after a day on set with a truly fantastic crew. I've worked for this client* before, but never anyone on this particular team. I was actually really nervous about this shoot because the last time I modelled for this company they were unhappy with my work**.  Obviously it couldn't have been too dire since they hired me again but I made sure to be on my very best behavior*** today.

I groomed, plucked, buffed, exfoliated and arrived to set early. The makeup artist did a beautiful job on my face and hair, and then we headed off to location. We drove up a dizzying hill (San Francisco has nothing on Stuttgart) and arrived at a mansion that was straight out of Architecture Digest. That's a real magazine, right?

It was a beautiful place to have a photo shoot. There was expensive looking art on the walls, a fountain in the entryway, and floor-to-ceiling windows displaying one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen.

Now, one of the things that can be a drag about photo shoots is the waiting around. The lights have to be set up, wardrobe needs to get ready, and then makeup and/or hair usually needs retouching. But, given the setting, I really didn't mind. And as the makeup artist did his thing, I was feeling pretty good about myself and the day so far. The crew had been impressed with my professionalism, the makeup looked gorgeous and the hairstylist really loved my hair. "Yes," he said, appraising his work, "this is really working. Now go get dressed and we'll start shooting."

As I headed downstairs to wardrobe I gave myself a little pat on the back and had a sip of my energy drink to ward off jetlag. Then I confidently rounded the corner and fell into the fucking fountain.

Why don't you just read that again? Go ahead. I'll wait. No. Don't even bother. I'll give it to you again.


I FELL IN THE FUCKING FOUNTAIN.

And it is worth noting that this was no normal fountain. This was a waist deep, rocky, indoor, Zen pond. That I fell inside of.

It is also worth noting that this was no normal fall. This was stepping where you assume there's ground and diving headfirst into deep and cold water with enough product in your hair to start a Fran Drescher level ecosystem and hours worth of makeup on your face. Not to mention your clothes and only coat. 




So what is a half drowned and completely mortified model to do?
A) Apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness.
B) Laugh with the stylist until you're both clutching the clothing rack and threatening to ihre hosen pinkeln.
C) Dissolve into giggles when the hairstylist not only forgives you but also joins you at the clothing rack and refers to you as Ariel for the rest of the day.

So. That happened. And if you'll excuse me, I'm off to soak my cold and exhausted body in a tub and order room service so as to avoid any public fountains. 

*Client=clothing company that hires the team. Team= model, photographer, photographer's assistant, photo editor, MUA, stylist, etc.
**actually, they were unhappy with my hair. It's still a little weird to me that my hair is so tied up in my work. I mean, other people get terrible haircuts and, you know, wear hats. They don't have to worry about being fired.
***and to have the best hair possible....

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Weekend Recap

It was the Boy's birthday last week, so this weekend I planned a Delightful Surprise Outing which turned out even better than I'd expected.

We hiked, while Rue guarded the house.

Then we had high tea at an adorable cafe.


The cafe had an adjacent store that made me fantasize about my someday grownup house which will have an office like this one I saw in a penthouse apartment on 5th Ave. The apartment belonged to some friends of my grandfather who were hosting his book party. It was full of real grownups, so I put my hair in a french twist, painted my nails and tried not to quote Kanye too much.
That said, I can't help it if my reaction to hearing a heartwarming story about rescuing a cat presents an excellent opportunity to pun on the Kanye classic 'Ni**as in Paris'.


Powerful attorney/real grownup: he was a rescue cat-
Me: that shit stray.
PA/RG: I'm sorry?
Me: oh, it's from Kanye and Jay Z's 'Watch the Throne'
PA/RG: I..I'm not familiar.
Me: that shit cray.

So that was that. 







Friday, June 4, 2010

Things I Am Not Proud Of

In Which The Author Wastes Perfectly Good Tequila


Had a Bridget Jones level cooking disaster the other night.

Now, I consider myself a pretty good cook. There aren't a whole lot of recipes I'd be afraid to try and I have a few staples up my sleeve that always come out great and impress the crowd (hello, lasagna). I've only had a few mishaps in the kitchen and they were all pretty minor.

This was not minor.

This was hardly a mishap.

It was a fecking disaster.

This was the plan: a romantic dinner for The Boy and I consisting of avocado and shrimp soup with caviar and creme fraiche, served with tilapia tacos with mango jicama salsa. The recipe came from a fantastic book I got for my birthday filled with recipes that use tequila or agave. I was super excited for this dinner. For Christ's sake, I bought caviar.

This was the turn of events: I headed for home after an exhausting weekend of wedding showers, family visits and Memorial Day fun with the bride-to-be in tow. Having bought more than enough ingredients, I invited her to stay for dinner before she headed back to Brooklyn. No big deal, I thought. This dinner will be great! I was so excited to get home and start cooking that I ignored the Boy's calls.

Have you ever started a project with a cloud of doom hanging over your head? I have. Little things kept going wrong, but it didn't phase me.
So The Boy ordered pizza because I didn't answer his calls. We can eat it tomorrow for breakfast! So I spilled the cream, no big deal. We have plenty!
So the tilapia has mysteriously vanished*. We can use this catfish, it isn't that old!

All the while I'm trying to ignore this little voice in the back of my head saying, "Fuck this shit! Abandon ship!" That ignoring I did? That was a mistake.

The food processor leaked. Then it exploded.

And I'd come too far to turn back now. So I reblended and then assembled the soup, complete with ridiculously expensive garnishes. And I made the catfish taco salads.

And you know what? It was fucking gorgeous. Like, 5 Star restaurant looking meal. It may not show in the pictures, but this meal was so aesthetically pleasing Martha Stewart would be jealous. Or at least impressed. Or maybe just satisfied. I really can't tell with that woman.


Catfish Tacos with mango jicama salsa


Shrimp and avocado soup with creme fraiche and caviar

And you know what else? It tasted like tequila scented ass. Assssssssss. I mean, it was delicious for three bites and then it felt like a drunk avocado took a crap in our mouths. And the shrimp was that kid who's dry and super boring so he gets a kick out of getting his drunk friends to do hilarious things. "Do it!! Take a dump in their mouth, you drunk asshole!"

And the catfish? It was that old. No bueno.


The traumatized and hungry bride-to-be left and The Boy and I were stuck with a disaster zone of a kitchen, a gallon of green goo, and cold pizza.

So, naturally, we popped open a bottle of champagne and had it with the rest of the caviar. In case you were wondering, caviar is an excellent appetizer for a pizza dinner.

*for those of you who read/watched/loved/obsessed about Bridget Jones: I literally peered into the freezer and said, "Oh fuck! Where the fuck is the fucking tilapia?! And, like Bridget and her fucking tuna, I still have no fucking idea.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Decisions

I have made a lot of good decisions in my life.


This was not one of them.