If there’s one thing in this world I know, it’s this: You gotta know your limit.

I don’t mean like how smart you are or how hard to push yourself when you’re working out or anything trivial like that. I’m talking about knowing how much you can drink.

One day a few months ago, a friend invited me out for a night of dancing and fun. I thought, hey, yes, I like dancing and fun. This will be excellent.

Cut to me four hours later in a blackout state, still dancing but question mark else? I don’t know because I was f*&cking wasted.

All I know is, I threw up in the bathroom of that club. And then I threw up in a diner afterwards. Twice. And then I think I took a cab home and went to sleep, but I know for sure that four hours later, I woke up and puked on and off for five hours, into my toilet, into plastic grocery bags, and all over myself. In fact, I vommed so much I burst a blood vessel, giving myself what I have affectionately termed zombeye. Zombeye, a bright red bloody eye, lasted two entire weeks. Read More »