Throughout the course of my social life, there are occasions where I choose to partake in a drink (or six) and potentially some "party favors" (ahem), and in extreme times, these items lead up to an allnighter.
Once I wake up, there's the usual attempt to recollect what happened the night before (or earlier that morning): the beer/scotch/rum incident, the joints, and whatever else has contributed to the overall nastiness going on in my head.
When I'm able to peel myself out of bed and throw on clothes that don't resemble anything I was wearing during said debauchery, I haul myself into the nearest Jamba Juice.
Seriously, Jews have the high holy days to atone; Catholics have confession. As someone who closely resembles a Protestant, I feel I can wash away my sins with the use of a health shake. (Years of learned denial justify this thinking.)
There's something about being in an environment that's completely devoid of anything wrong or questionable. The Jamba store is filled with fruit, sorbet, ice, juice, and wheatgrass. I'll suck down my giant RazzMaTazz and feel all the regret of recent nights past filter out of my body with the help of the fiber boost. Once I've gone through my version of detox, I feel like I'm back to zero and all is right with my place in the world (meaning I feel more like the person my parents still think I am).
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2 comments:
Aah, Jamba. Sweet sweet Jamba. There have been times when a Protein Berry Pizzazz with Immunity sufficed as my sole serving of fruit for the week, sadly.
Hm. Jamba Juice as religion. I like it.
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