With ‘staycation’ still lingering in the lexicon as a legitimate – and lately only – option for cash-strapped people with time-off to kill, I thought I’d tackle the subject of ‘staylag’ or the staycation equivalent of jetlag. I recently suffered this affliction after a weekend romp, ranging dangerously close to a first tier suburb, and I can tell you it’s no picnic.
For those who haven’t had the pleasure, classic ‘jetlag’ is defined as “a temporary disruption of the body’s normal biological rhythms after high-speed air travel through several time zones.” What does it actually feel like? Well, it kinda feels like the morning you’ve been returned to Earth after a 17 hour alien abduction, wherein the experiments they performed on you included a partial lobotomy (via the anus naturally – is there any other way?), then replaced your blood with used coffee grounds, then spun your head around four times just to see what would happen, then pooped in your mouth, then ran you through the Galactic Spinal Realignment Ass Tenderizer Thingamabob, and finally, in the chaos of trying to get out of the lab for the alien equivalent of Happy Hour, maybe they put your arm where your leg goes and your leg where your arm goes. Results may vary.
Staylag, on the other hand, is defined as “A complete f*ck-up of the mind, tongue, stomach and colon, after a quick succession of cider, wine, cheaper wine, gin and tonics and then three kinds of juice mixed with Skye Vodka. Dumb ass.”
Though it’s tempting to do so, ‘staylag’ should not to be confused with the term ‘hangover’, because in addition to a few too many alcoholic beverages, true staylag also involves some ill-considered gastronomic decisions and anywhere from two to 13, largely unexplained, minor injuries. Day 3 of my Minneapolis Staycation Project from last summer is the quintessential example.
So, while staylag is less punishing than genuine jetlag, you still invariably end up suffering unduly for what seemed like reasonably measured indulgence at the time.
In my case, I spent Thursday night drinking to forget work, Friday drinking to forget Thursday night, then Saturday without sober supervision in a house stockpiled with enough alcohol and mixers to hospitalize a bachelor party of Irish sailors. Throw in a touch of insomnia and, brother, you’re seriously staylagged. I’m talking, up at 5:30am, lunch at 10am, dinner at 3:30pm and nodding off at 6pm, with all the diminished mental acuity and gastrointestinal distress you’d expect after such behavior.
So, how does one avoid staylag? Here’s a few tips:
• Stay hydrated. In fact, kept about 12 Electrolyte Stamina Power Paks on your person at all times. I only brought two with me and I paid dearly.
• No matter how beautiful and booze-filled the house is, never agree to house-sit a place that’s 800 meters from the business end of an international airport runway.
• Keep it down to one burrito per 12 hours.
• If you know what’s good for you, you won’t listen to, or do, anything I say after I’ve had more than two glasses of wine.
• Do not accidentally punch the low ceiling in a finished basement while executing your ace serve on Wii Tennis.
• Stay out of the suburbs.
• After three dedicated nights of drinking, do not go to a matinee of “Inglorious Bastards”.
There’s more of course, but if you think I’m giving that away before my memoirs see print, you’re kidding yourself.