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Puking, Lost Friends, And Making Out With 18-Year-Olds: These Are The Worst Stories From The Weekend

This is a recurring PGP series. Catch up with all installments of Worse Weekends Than You by visiting the archive. Email your stories to will@grandex.co.

Puking, Lost Friends, And Making Out With 18-Year-Olds: These Are The Worst Stories From The Weekend

I made a mistake. Something that didn’t used to be a mistake, but as you get older, it becomes a worse and worse idea. You wake up with a headache parlayed with regret, and it affects you to your core to the point where you’re not even sure if life is worth living.

I went out on a Thursday.

Yes, yes, I know. Whereas Thursdays used to be better than Fridays going out, turning 30 turns you into a complete and utter pussy when it comes to drinking on school nights. I’m not proud of my performance, but when you’re a wily veteran still trying to get some minutes, you have to live within your means.

That being said – even though I backed into my weekend and spent Friday night watching season four of The Great British Baking Show – reading this week’s submissions made me feel like I have my life completely together.

Spent The Weekend in a constant brown out in dc. First night went well touring the bars and seeing the sights until we ended up at a party were everyone was on acid and there was a guy giving old school needle and ink tattoos. Noped out of there real fast. 2nd day started with bottomless brunch and carried over to me getting banned from game of thrones bar before ever making it into the bar. Still don’t know how. Napped for half the night and went out again. Made it back to a notorious apartment to “see the dogs” but rejected any advances. Currently dying waiting on my flight home because I ran out of pedialyte.

It’s tough out there. As someone who’s never been to Washington D.C. but feels as though he’d thrive in Georgetown, I respect your dedication to going out. The nighttime-nap-going-straight-into-going-back-out move is what separates you from the pack.

This email came in at 8:49 a.m. and I applaud this person for getting an early flight out. The biggest mistake you can make for your Sunday Scaries is waking up with a hangover and getting a 6 p.m. flight out of your destination. It’s a recipe for disaster every single time.

All the usual readers will write in to bitch about how hungover they were at brunch, etc. I was hungover from a local Irishfest, and got up to go drop over $300 on breakfast and shopping at the American Girl Store Sunday morning with my wife and two daughters. My prize was one $8 mimosa.

Wow. As much as I hate the overuse of this word that’s somehow made it into every millennial’s vocabulary, this truly left me “shook.” Thinking back to how many meals, toys, trips, etc. that my parents gave me only to never even receive a ‘thank you,’ it’s frightening that a lot of us are close to being those people now.

To my parents, if they’re even reading this: I’m sorry I complained when you tried to send me away to camp. Had I known that you were paying thousands of dollars to send me somewhere solely to have fun, I would have just gone. I’d do anything for a month of unplugging, canoeing, and making campfires.

One of my best friends from high school came to visit me over the weekend and it was all good until last night I got stupid drunk and ditched her when she was apartment/bar hopping trying to meet up with our other friend that lives here. I ended up at a bar and ran into a guy I used to hookup with. I vaguely remember saying some stupid shit and then processing to puke all over the stool next to me right in front of him and my two favorite bar tenders (one of which I’m to sleep with). I then went home to find my visiting friend waiting in the hallway outside my apartment as we continued to fight and as I continued to puke in my kitchen sink. I then completely blacked out and woke up to a text that she had packed up and left town early in the morning while I was still passed out. She also hasn’t answered any of my apology texts, so I guess there goes eight years of friendship and my dignity.

W-o-w.

I normally don’t try to push anxiety onto people for acting stupid, but this one is hard to avoid. Can’t just be ditching your house guests like that, but furthermore, you can’t just be puking in your kitchen sink. My condolences. And if your friend is reading this, hold this over her head and bring it up at her wedding at an inopportune time.

We started drinking by the pool at 11 AM, then as we transitioned to the bars we lost our friend. As the night progressed I lost my keys at some point, ran into my ex and we lost another friend.

First friend that fell behind tried walking home but gave up and passed out on a sidewalk and finished his walk home at 6 the next morning. Second friend that got came back to our apartment at some point but me and the roommate were fast asleep. This friend tried climbing up our balcony and fell in the process. She had to get picked up and taken to another friend’s house.

Currently looking for my keys to no avail wondering how none of my friend group hasn’t been arrested or seriously injured.

In the pantheon of shit you don’t want to lose while you’re drunk, keys and friends are pretty much a part of the holy trinity. Glad the person who fell off the balcony is still with us. Not dying is huge.

Went to a race which was one of the most fun things I’ve ever attended, especially the demolition derby (I need to go to a NASCAR race now) but had only eaten one small sandwich all day so then I proceeded to get so drunk that I threw up in one of the trashcans right outside the stands. Hiding my face in shame the rest of the weekend

Better to throw up in a trashcan than a kitchen sink, I guess? And in the grand scheme of everything that happened at this demolition derby, you have to imagine throwing up was on the tamer side. 1,000% chance everyone there is hoping Kid Rock gets a senate nod.

None of what I’m going to tell actually happened to me, but I was around to witness it.

We were celebrating our friend’s 25th birthday on one of those booze trolleys in Chicago. She’s definitely lost a step since her college days, so she got sloppy pretty quick. With about 20 minutes left on the ride, she sticks her head out the side and yacks all over the side of the trolley to the viewing pleasure of the car next to us.

After the trolley we went out to some bars. One of our friends was absolutely floored that one of the bars was charging cover, so he said to the doorman “fuck you, eat a dick.” Guess the doorman didn’t like that because he sent a worker to run around to the other six or so bars down that street to tell those doormen not to let us in.

Once our night ended, we came back to our friend’s apartment for some quality Jack’s frozen pizzas. His girlfriend comes up the stairs into the kitchen, stops, looks at us and pukes all over the hardwood floor. And then a little on the toilet in the bathroom. Fortunately the pizza was not harmed.

Okay, I have to ask – why the hell is everyone puking so much this week? Like, this is way more booting than I’ve ever witnessed in these recaps.

Also, if you needed more proof that you need to stop going on pedal pubs, this is it.

Started off Saturday with bottomless brunch at a place that gives you unlimited full bottles of champagne. Went mimo for mimo with my boyfriend, who has a foot and 60 pounds on me. Moved to a beer garden where I drunkenly asked him if we should move in together. Ordered a gin cocktail, a liquor that makes me notoriously argumentative. Sob-screamed at him when I discovered he followed his ex on Instagram. Somehow he didn’t leave me on a street corner for being a certified crazy person, I fell asleep in an Uber, came to at Shake Shack eating cheese fries. All of this was before 5 PM.

So, uh, you two moving in together or what? Sounds like you really bolstered your résumé and made a great case for it on Saturday.

So I just drank for 5 straight days (6 am-1 am everyday) at the most redneck country music festival you can imagine (think of the most stereotypical example of a redneck or hillbilly and I was surrounded by several hundred thousand). Honestly, it was fun as hell, but let’s dive into some of the worst things that happened.

I slept on gravel, hay bales, and dirt all weekend.
My left foot is twice the size of my right.
I have a rash covering both feet and ankles.
My voice is on existent and I cannot breathe out of my nose.
I have shin splints for the first time since college track.
I’m covered head to toe in bruises.
I’m a straight chick but kissed my best friend (girl) on a stage in from of my brother and ex.
I made out with a stranger (guy) in front of my brother and ex. Apparently did both these things to get back at my ex for dancing and talking with other girls. Sorry to my brother.
I ate maybe 3 times in 5 days.
I slept maybe 4 hours in 5 days.
Didn’t take my contacts out for 5 days.
I just got home (10:30 est) and have to work in the morning, Sunday scaries are at an all time high.
Oh, and I accidentally sent someone to the hospital.

And yes, I will be back next year.

What the hell is wrong with you people? If someone asked me to go to a five-day redneck music festival where I sleep on hay, I’d throw my drink in their face and tell them to never speak to me again. I’m not saying you deserve the angst you’re feeling right now, but I am saying that you made your bed and now you have to sleep in it. Your hay bale bed, mind you.

So my dear sweet roommate is going to hate herself tomorrow… [redacted] has had strep throat and a cold since Tuesday.

But [redacted] also suffers from fomo so she decided to go get bombed on the lake with a bunch of 18-year-olds on Saturday. But it didn’t stop there. Instead of coming home Sunday, [redacted] got blacked out again tonight on the lake with more 18 year olds and is now in the basement of one of said 18 year olds parents houses… did I mention this is over an hour away from our apartment?? She has work tomorrow. It’s 11:20 pm and she can’t drive her car back.

I had to send this email because she’s too drunk to do it. Still trying to confirm whether or not she madeout with one of the 18 year olds…

If one of these 18-year-olds didn’t make out with her, I think the collective community we built here would be let down. As a former 18-year-old myself (not to brag), making out with a mid-20s girl was the dream. Congratulations to [redacted] for making those dreams come true.

Great work this week, everyone. Puking aside, everyone got some good work done.

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Will deFries

Will deFries (Twitter / Instagram) is a Senior Writer at Grandex and the world's foremost authority on Sunday Scaries (Twitter / Instagram). Email me at will@grandex.co.

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