I’m sitting here in bed facing a Monday full of travel after spending a week in my hometown. Still bloated and wondering if I’m somehow still hungover from Independence Day, I’ve never needed to sort through a crop of bad weekends like I’ve needed to today.
Let’s get into ’em.
I went up to visit a friend from college in DC this weekend and matched with this local hottie on Bumble. I told her I was a local and hit her with a Harry Potter themed pickup line. Immediately charmed, she agreed to drinks in Adams Morgan. Although we actually did vibe pretty hard, the whole date I was just spewing straight dog shit out of my mouth as far as “work” is concerned and nervously avoiding any DC-related subjects that would give away the inconvenient truth that I’m just a lying tourist from the South looking for some strange. We went back to her place for wine and had sex through the first Harry Potter movie, followed by a decent night’s sleep and morning sex. On my way back home she asked why my location said I was 50 miles away and I ghosted like Nearly-Headless Nick.
She also reads PGP. Molly, I’m so sorry. Also I lied about being a Ravenclaw – I’m Slytherin af.
No offense, but sounds like her weekend was much shittier than yours. That being said, you’re definitely a shitty person who would’ve never been in Ravenclaw. Slytherin it is.
And now for a strictly 4th of July story:
Weekend trip to the lake house with a group of friends. We all started drinking beers at 10 am to stay hydrated from all the beach volleyball, paddle boarding, and flirting. Switched to jell-o shots (yes, they were RW&B) around 2 pm, then margaritas began making the rounds by sunset. Someone’s genius idea (read: me) to play King’s cup around 9 pm resulted in too many penalty tequila shots to count. Because we’re all responsible adults, everyone retired to the hot tub porch afterward, sunburns and all.
Keep in mind that the porch is separated from the living room by a set of large French doors through which everything can be seen clearly. One of the guys left to use the bathroom adjoining the living room, shortly after which my sister and her boyfriend exited the spa to have a drunken DTR in the living room.
This resulted in the longest publicly witnessed break up of all time. Picture 10 drunken adults trapped in a hot tub, sweating out tequila through sun burned skin, unable to leave the porch because of the scene unfolding on the other side of the french doors. We were mesmerized by the awkward melodrama of the scene — her anger, his defensive hand motions, pleading for mercy. Speculation ran wild and unfiltered across the bubbly jets of the jacuzzi.
Time crawled by, one excruciating minute at a time, until at least 30 minutes had elapsed. The bathroom door cracked open as the couple argued on. We held our collective breath, realizing that Bathroom Guy could wait no longer. He shifted out of the bathroom doorway hesitantly, assessing the scene. Our drunken eyes widened in horror as he leaned forward.
Maintaining a full forward lean in an attempt to evade attention from the newly established exes, he sprinted through the living room to safety in the least subtle and most awkward manner imaginable, leaving the bathroom free for my newly single sister to puke in.
God bless America.
As someone who recently spent an entire holiday weekend with a couple who had broken up hours before our arrival, I feel your pain. And awkwardness. And everything else involved.
I know you’re on vacation will, but content never sleeps. Went to the turnpike troubadours concert where I spend a part of the time drunk tweeting a pgper. After wards went to a gay bar where the opening band and I got shirtless for free drinks. Then ended the night almost getting in a fist fight with our Uber driver because I couldn’t convince him that the company he was “interning” for sucked. I really hate me right now.
Need. to. see. these. tweets.
If it makes you feel better, at least you probably weren’t the drunkest person at the Turnpike Troubadours show. I hear their lead singer is a real shitshow IRL.
girl i dated for 3 years was allegedly coming to the bar i was going to friday. i decided to counteract possibly seeing her by taking a xanax and starting to drink at 8 (i did a power hour alone). fast forward to the bar and unsurprisingly she doesnt show. so im very drunk very early for no reason. i was with my buddy and someone he knows that ive met once previously. my buddy disappears and leaves me with a guy ive met once. i start shooting off texts to every girl that i know will answer. ones at the bar we were at so we find her and her friend. drink with them for rest of the night and i go home with her while the guy i was with and her friend go their separate ways. i blackout in our uber and the only things i remember are throwing up in her front yard and leaving before going in. according to texts i walked home which is about a 30 min walk. no idea why i didnt get another uber and im sure we’ll probably ever speak again.
You know it’s going to be a big one when the second sentence involves the word “Xanax.” Hint from someone who’s prescribed: take in small doses and don’t drink on it under any circumstances. Disobeying those rules can really fuck you up.
Let’s see who can top this.
Drove two hours back home to a buddy’s wedding. Country club, two open bars, you know the drill.
Had a mild pregame but things escalated at the reception. My Ohio University buddies started forcing everyone to take shots of Jameson which didn’t couple well with the continuous vodka sodas.
Piled into the back of a pickup truck with 15 other people, including bride and groom, to continue the party at a local watering hole. Things began to get pretty blurry at this point. I was slurring words and striking up conversation with the same people who I was avoiding the majority of the night.
My dad came to DD for some of us and I decided to puke out the window and all over the side of his car. I offered to clean it in the morning but it was spotless by 8am. I couldn’t handle the disappointment.
Now I’m back in the city, lying in bed and dreading my 8am flight to Chicago tomorrow morning.
“Country club, two open bars, you know the drill.” I’m glad that’s the niche I’ve carved out for myself. Either way, that sounds like one hell of a wedding. Keep pounding, and maybe mix in some waters next time. .