Perhaps the worst part of drinking is not the next-day headache or the money spent, but the Kingsley Amis "metaphysical hangover," "that ineffable compound of depression, sadness (these two are not the same), anxiety, self-hatred, sense of failure and fear for the future" that comes upon waking the next day. I have found that I feel this whether or not I do something stupid, and that there is no real cure except a purging spree of confessional story-telling. I blame the metaphysical hangover for my inability to forget transgressions gracefully, instead painting them all over town for comedic and self-reflective effect.
Perhaps, though, the secret to avoiding this phenomenon is to wait out the effects of the booze, drinking water until it doesnt taste good, and reading novels until the pity party has passed. "The Book Thief" is a fantastic book. It is YA, but that's kind of how I like my fiction. It is set in Nazi Germany, and is told more or less from the perspective of a grim reaper character, but not in a hokey way. It is good to the point where it doesn't make you sit back and ponder how clever it is. There is a reason I don't review books.