Alma Maters, Bottomless Mimosas, And Peeing The Bed: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

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Destination weddings are fun. Unless you’re this girl I tweeted about yesterday while trying to deal with my own set of Sunday Scaries that were driven by eating my way through Charleston, South Carolina and drinking from the second I got there to the second we left.

If you’re her, some dude named Steve who drives a Tahoe has your necklace.

Before we get into it, we’ve been breaking down these stories on Touching Base lately, and all the episodes can be found on SoundCloud right here:

So without wasting anymore time, these are the worst stories from the weekend that was. All original, all unedited, all filled with anxiety.

So I went to brunch with a bunch of friends couldn’t be seated for about an hour so we sat at the bar in the meantime, where we started our bottomless mimosas. Drank around 5 before I sat down. Finally got seated and think the waitress likes me (which is cool, just got out of a long relationship) however, she refills my glass the second it’s empty (not so cool, I’m a light weight). Drink probably 8-12 more mimosas, pay my expensive ass bill, take my wrapped up food and leave with my boys. Hit another bar where I proceeded to throw up in the bathroom. A good friend’s brother drove me (along with a couple friends) home however, he stopped at a 7/11 to buy cigarettes, where I proceeded to throw up in the parking lot. Finally got home, forgot my leftover food god knows where, and lost my Oakley’s. Felt like shit and told my parents I got food poisoning (not sure why I did that, I’m 22). Threw up probably 12 more times and went to work the next day super hungover. It was someone’s birthday in the office where I walked into the meeting room for the cake late with my hair super wet (from washing my face and trying not to throw up) looking like a straight drug addict in front of my entire office. Pretty sure I’m the first person to ever throw up off mimosas.

1. You’re not the first person to throw up off mimosas. Not even close.

2. The most psychotic move you made was wrapping your brunch and taking it to go. Unless you ordered a club sandwich or something, getting eggs to go is just not allowed under any circumstances.

3. Oakleys? Probably good you lost ’em, bud. You’re not Bubba Watson.

I turned 22 yesterday. I’m out of college and working, but I live just 45 minutes away from my old campus, so I drove back to school to meet up with some friends to get very drunk.

After some light pregaming we headed to a bar for trivia night. Trivia night is my shit, I know a lot about useless things. We’re through six of eight rounds and my team is in second place out of 14, right where we want to be.
Then the margaritas hit. We went from second to ninth in two rounds. That’s fine, whatever, not gonna ruin my night and also I’m too drunk to care. Went to another bar and met up with different friends and this is where the night took a turn.

I don’t dip tobacco, but for some reason I thought it’d be a good idea to take a big ol’ pinch of Copenhagen Mint from a friend’s can. Puked on myself and the floor of the bar in front of God and everyone and could barely get in my friend’s car I was so drunk.

The story doesn’t end there. I had work this morning so I made the 45 minute drive, barely awake and nearly vomiting the entire time. Also, today I had to dress up as our company’s “mascot” and run a mascot race in the 90 degree heat. I could barely see straight and was sweating alcohol from every pore, and proceeded to trip and bust my ass. Not a great day.

Never *clap emoji* go *clap emoji* back *clap emoji* to *clap emoji* your *clap emoji* alma *clap emoji* mater.

Also, never just think you can hop on the dip train. As someone who went through a summer of dipping on the golf course before realizing how much my gums meant to me, it always seems like a fun idea to ask for one when you see someone out. Newsflash: it’s not.

Went with my boyfriend to his cousin’s wedding at an extremely fancy resort. The choices at the reception were either craft beer or wine and it was 85 degrees out, so I knew I was in for a rough night. Was drinking rosé all night, was very proud of myself for pacing myself and drinking water here and there in an attempt to not be a total shit show, andddd then it all caught up to me.

I went straight from tipsy to completely blacked out. There was no in between period. I apparently left the reception, tried to go back to my hotel room that was in the building right across the parking lot, ended up passing out in the lobby of a completely different building. Security guard took my phone and tried to find someone to call. I had my boyfriend’s phone as well so that wasn’t going to work. I also did not have any service so he was just finding the phone numbers in my contacts and then calling from his phone, so I have no idea how many people he called and I’m too afraid to ask my friends. He finally got a hold of my boyfriend’s sister in law so the boyfriend came and took me back to the room. I remember none of this. I came to while hurling my guts out in the room, and the night concluded with my boyfriend having a nice long conversation with me about how I might need to reevaluate my relationship with alcohol.

Uh, tell your boyfriend to take his head out. That entire situation isn’t your fault. My sister’s wedding was also heavy beers and wine, and we knew exactly what to expect. People were going to get hammered, people were going to make mistakes, and no one was going to talk about it after. It was perfect.

Fun Fact: This weekend, the bartenders complimented me on my dedication to drinking waters with every cocktail. The most responsible I’ve ever felt.

I almost drank myself to death this weekend, and I’m suffering from some INTENSE sunday scaries right now. I recently started law school after taking time off after undergrad to work, and you’d think by this point I’d have learned that I can’t drink like a college kid anymore, but goddamn did I try last night.

It all started in a parking lot with a bottle of barefoot chardonnay. My parents came to town and we decided to watch the Pitt game. The bottle of wine was meant to be shared between my mom and I, but she correctly decided it was gross and asked me to finish her portion. So there I was, chugging bottom shelf wine in a parking lot at 11:30 in the morning in front of my parents.

After the game we did some tourist-y stuff around town, hit a few more bars, had several drafts of miller lite, and all the sudden it was 5:00 and I was facedown on my floor catching a drunk nap. Instead of like, I don’t know, pumping the fuckin brakes a bit, I proceeded to “rally” for dinner where I ordered more wine and a light salad. Because a salad is totally gonna help me sober up a bit, right?

Then we headed over to southside to meet up with my friends from college to watch the penn state game, and this is where I completely lost control. By the second double g&t i was feeling myself. I was ON. I was chugging my drinks and having my friends time me on their phones as my mom yelled “I didn’t raise her like this!” looking on in horror. All the sudden there was a shot of jaeger in my hand, I lost the ability to stand without assistance, and by midnight, a friend threw my corpse into the back of an uber and sent me home. I was unresponsive. It was like putting a body in a body bag.

At some point of my night, I threw up all over my apartment. When I woke up I was completely naked except for my sandals, and I had to clean up my disaster zone before my parents came back over for breakfast. Now I’m sitting in the law building drinking a pedialyte and I smell like a distillery and I have so much reading to do but I’m still a little drunk and I can’t focus. There’s kids here taking the LSAT this weekend and I think the mere sight of me is scaring them out of going to law school.

College football will kill me this year.

It wasn’t the drinks that did you in – it was the salad for dinner. A big dinner can save you, but if you think you can get away with just eating salad or some oysters, well, you’re fucked.

Do you have a video of your mom saying, “I didn’t raise her like this” though? TFM may want it for their Instagram.

Why do we do it Will? Why do we never learn? It plays out the same way every time and yet we still think we can get away with it. I’m sitting here battling my own digestive system in the bathroom at brunch, my flight is in 3 hours, and I’m having existential scaries about all the Sundays ahead of me that’ll play out just like this one, or worse. I’m even getting scaries imagining what would’ve happened to me last night had Texas squeaked out the W against USC. I’ve entered the arena of meta-scaries and I don’t see a way out. T&Ps pls.

Imagine being a Texas fan, though.

I fucked up pretty bad this weekend. You see, my ex—well more of a college hookup/friend that could have been an almost relationship—was visiting our college town this weekend. I now live about 20 minutes away from my campus—which means I avoid going out there when possible because I’m trying to be a with a real 24-year-old that doesn’t black out on the weekends.

But, he was here. And, he invited me out. And, so I went…even though I have an *almost* boyfriend. (Maybe I’m the problem?)

At 11:00pm, I take two shots of tequila in my apartment and call a Lyft. By 11:25, I’m pulling up to a frat house that I’m way too sober and way too old to be stepping foot in. After mixing me a solo cup of warm Aristocrat and Sprite (which tastes like freshman year and regret), we sat on the back patio and talked about life. So ~adult~.

Then, I had another one. And, some of his. Oh, and then a can of Busch Light.

He’s trying to make moves. But, I’m not having it…yet. I tell him I know about his girlfriend (to which I’m referring to the less attractive version of myself that he Instagrammed twice last week…which I explained) and he claims he doesn’t have one. Total fuckboi move, btw.

I tell him we should go out, so we do. We make our way to the first bar and he buys me a drink—a Vodka Cran, and I’m drunk enough to be way too thankful that he remembers my basic af drink order from senior year.

We run into old friends, we’re getting handsy and then we head to bar number two. I order us two drinks (because I’m a strong independent woman who has a job and doesn’t need him to pay for me, which is probably what I said as a sad attempt to make myself believe we weren’t going to hook up).

We see more of his friends. And that’s when my night goes to shit.

Apparently, we went to a third bar, but I don’t recall. Everything from this point to 2am is a blur. I came to just in time to almost get sick in bar number four and be asked to leave. Surprisingly he’s still following me around like a sad puppy who knows he’s not getting laid tonight.

Then, I puke on the sidewalk. He calls an Uber—and about 3 minutes away from my apartment, I puke out the window of the Uber. We walk up the stairs to my apartment, only to discover that it’s not my apartment. We might be in my complex, but I’m too trashed to tell at this point.

You want to know what Hell feels like? Have an Uber drop you off in a sea of young adult apartments that all look identical when you’re black out and with someone who’s never seen where you live. That’s a good time.

After what feels like an eternity, we find my building. (Only after I shout my apartment number into the night 47 times and cry on the stairs). My neighbors LOVE me.

I proceed to trash my bathroom. Throw up in my trashcan and black out again, while he falls asleep in my bed. I come to at 7am on the couch wearing nothing but an oversized sorority t-shirt that must have taken me years to find in my walk-in closet the night before. He’s still asleep in my bed.

We end up having half-assed morning sex for old time sake, but I keep getting a whiff of my puke—likely coming from my nappy hair. I’ve run out of makeup remover so I look like a dead raccoon. I have two bruises on my thighs, two blisters on my feet from my new wedges, a questionable cut on my face and, after the morning sex, a hickey on my neck.

I’m too nice to make him take an Uber to his hotel, so I drive him.

We say our goodbyes, and then four hours later he hits me with a Venmo request for $40 to pay him back for the Uber charges. Don’t throw up in an Uber, friends. They charge you for that.

He might be the love of my life. He might be the biggest fuck boy I’ve ever met. And, sadly, I might not ever see him again.

He’s moving to California tomorrow.

Help.

Once a fuck boy, always a fuck boy. But if you’re 24 and still going back to frat houses with dudes who have girlfriends, you’re destined to make some more terrible decisions on top of the already-terrible decisions you’ve already made.

Just please, don’t move to California for this guy. I beg of you.

Will, I’m dying here and I thought you could take pleasure in my pain. Sorry in advance, it’s a bit of an essay.

On Friday night I was at a barbecue with some friends, and one girl in the group suggested that we do Century Club at her house on Saturday. My friends and I are all only a few years removed from college, and we’ve done it before, so we eagerly accepted her proposal. This spelled the beginning of the end.

Saturday night rolled around and the crew assembled at the aforementioned girl’s house for a night of fun. We walked inside, headed to the table, cracked open our beers and the event began. The first 25 minutes were smooth-sailing, and we were confident that we would complete this without breaking a sweat. I had noticed that I was feeling a bit more drunk and full than usual around this point, but I pushed forward like the fool that I am.

However, around 45 minutes in, the game proved too much for me, and I immediately ran to the nearest washroom in order to vomit. At this point my other friends had also reached their limits and decided to end it there. As we are all absolute degenerates, we continued to drink and chat. Our gracious hostess had previously worked as a bartender, so she was mixing up Campari-sodas, vermouths with a twist and other exotic beverages until late in the evening as we talked, danced and indulged in cocaine. At 3am we realized that it was probably best to turn in so we found guest rooms and crashed.

The next morning I awoke to what was easily one of the worst hangovers I have ever had in my life. I vomited immediately, and then again an hour later for good measure. I found my friends and they looked like they felt about as horrible as I did, so we sipped waters and talked slowly until we were well enough to leave.

The kicker? I had to go to my mom’s house and cut down a dead tree in her backyard Sunday afternoon. Imagine dealing with chainsaws and heavy pieces of wood while your head feels like North Korea was testing nukes in it. I’ve also got to be up at 6 for work tomorrow.

P.S. Campari-sodas are delicious. I wish I had more this summer.

The Summer of Campari-Sodas lives on. But yeah, as someone who drank about five of them during the 4th quarter and 2OTs of the UT/USC game, yeah, the hangover is less than ideal. Congrats on being manly enough to cut a tree down though. No one would ever ask me to do something like that.

Wow okay here’s a doozy.

So Saturday I went to a huge Oktoberfest. The best beer hall in the city shuts down two blocks in the city with tents, live music, giant pretzels, all that good stuff. So I’m with my friends slamming back Sierra Nevada Oktoberfests like there’s no tomorrow, and I see on snap that one of my high school friends is there. Text him to meet up and grab a beer at one of the booths, we chat, all is well. Run into his older brother, and my drunken ass decides to tease them about my best friend, who they were both in love with from high school till about a year ago. Turns out, the younger brother didn’t know the older brother felt the same way about her. They tussle a bit, older brother leaves. So I caused a fight between two brothers (who are also roommates) all cause I thought I was funny for bringing up a sensitive subject literal ten years in the making.

Couldn’t have upset my friend too much, because he asks me to go home with him. Despite the fact that I had told him about how crazy I am about my boyfriend, he was “thinking I might give him a chance.”

This was all about 3 PM. I made it home by 11 after a $27 solo Uber ride, discovering Sunday morning that I have no credit card (RIP chase sapphire preferred) but managed to come home with $48 cash after leaving in the morning with a single twenty dollar bill. Also I pulled something in my leg and can’t really walk.

If we’re being honest, it makes sense that he might take a shot in the dark. If he’s never met your boyfriend and you two are having fun at Oktoberfest together, it kiiiiind of makes sense. But thank you so much for not cheating on your boyfriend this weekend. I wouldn’t have been able to handle that.

I watched the Cowboys game. I’m a Cowboys fan.

The End.

The Detroit Lions lost every game one season. I don’t feel bad for a franchise that has more Super Bowl wins in my lifetime than my team has playoff wins.

Me and my best friend from college both moved to queens recently. Even in the same borough she’s still a 30 minute Uber from my apartment or over an hour on the subway (not happening) but I had to attend her apartment warming. I got to her party, BYOB and brought myself 4 IPAs to ration myself…Took tequila shots and shotgunned bud heavy. That’s when I black out. No one remembers when I left the party. I ordered an Uber except not to my apartment but to a combination of mine and my friends address. I get dropped off in some random area completely drunk with no idea of where I am. Begin to cry. Call another Uber but instead of wait for it, I get in the next black sedan I see and insist he take me home. I recall passing him the phone which my sister was on. He brought me to my sisters place in Manhattan and then I peed myself in the middle of the night. I just woke up naked and feeling like I’m going through all types of withdrawal. The real miracle is I got in a random mans car and he actually took me on what would have been a $40 Uber ride. I guess I was too annoying to abduct at the moment. My sisters are currently making fun of me and checking my Snapchat story for clues. I’m not in college anymore where I party 500 feet from my bed max and can drink anything.

“Apartment warming” made me want to throw up as much as “sip and see” the first time I heard of that.

That being said, the peeing yourself part is probably the worst out of all of it, but at least we all got the phrase “too annoying to abduct” out of this entire debacle. Got some ex-girlfriends who could name their biographies that. HEY-OHHHHH.

So I guess this weekend begins on Thursday night, as the best do.

I had a date planned with a solid 8.5/10 dude that I met in undergrad (I’m a female, I’d say a 7.5-8).. he was going to be super late so I wasn’t about to cancel my girls’ night plans to end up being dragged along by this guy, no matter how hot.

So I postpone our plans to Sunday and we make a game plan. We planned to hit a brewery to watch our respective football games & then see where it went.

Wine night turned out how most wine nights turn out… drunk as hell with my phone out texting back up dudes..

Well, one came through to say the least.. one who I later found out had a girlfriend. So now I’m a homewrecker with a freaking 6 on the 1-10 scale.. worth it? Absolutely not.

So Friday begins with an epic hangover that I try to smother with water, Aleeve & klonopin, and crippling regret.

The original guy and I share plenty of sexting and banter & the tension seems to be perfect for Sunday. Friday night was spent watching Criminal Minds and overthinking whether or not I’d sleep with original guy on Sunday or whether I’d make him wait.

Saturday was spent hitting golf balls on the range with my dad & catching a nice buzz, followed by confirming plans with original guy. I went out with friends, woke up hungover. But still woke up feeling stoked for my date. The games began at 1 p.m. & my fantasy teams weren’t looking so hot so I needed a “win” for the weekend… even if it was just with him.

Never heard from the guy regarding our plans. 0/10 would recommend.

Feel free to dole out advice as well if you feel the need.

Great work on getting a date with someone who you consider to be a full point above you. But obviously this night went EXACTLY how every single girls night goes.

It begins with a “fuck guys” vibe where everyone feeds off each other, and then turns into everyone blacking out and texting guys in order to get laid.

Oh, but she followed up with more info.

I forgot to add that the 6 who has a girlfriend & I made a sex tape on his phone.. rookie move, I know. But he’s holding it hostage so that I don’t tell his girlfriend about us. That pretty much sums up my weekend.

He’s not holding it hostage for that reason. He’s definitely doing something else with it.

Went back to my college town for a Thursday, Friday & Saturday bender, with Mother’s Day on Sunday to round it out. Went way too hard Thursday (walked across campus at 9am Friday morning to make it to my buddies graduation in my clothes from the night before & wreaking of alcohol in front of his family).

Couldn’t make it out Friday night, so that made me decide to go out Saturday night to make up for it. Got too lit and decided to drive the 45 minutes from college town to parents house at 3am. Drunk and tired makes for a dangerous combo and I ended up getting pulled over about 0.5 miles from my house. I was wayyyyy over the legal limit & somehow convinced the cop & his three squad cars he apparently called for back up (small town, they were probably pretty bored) to let me drive home because “you made it this far”.

So now sitting here in bed waiting for my melatonin to kick in with severe anxiety thinking about my mother having to pick me up from jail on Mother’s Day. Writing about it makes me feel a little better. Yikes.

Amazing how many stories I’ve heard about small town people getting out of DUIs for similar reasons. That being said, and I’ll only say this once this week: do. not. drink. and. drive.

Okay, I’m saying it twice: DO. NOT. DRINK. AND. DRIVE.

So this weekend I was visiting Chicago for a friends birthday. We have a lot of alumni from my chapter in the city so we rent a trolley to take our drunk asses around all night. The night consists of sleeping the bag, rounds of tequila shots at multiple bars, partaking in illicit activities in McDonald’s bathrooms, blacking out and falling asleep in two Uber’s. I finally come out of my blackout at the last bar just as we are leaving. We get back to my buddy’s apartment I’m fucking starving and spend 30 minutes walking around to find zero open restaurants at 3:00 am. Decide to open my favorite food ordering apps and order $20 of Mexican food for myself. Only to wake up st 7:00 am face down on the floor next to the front door of my friends apartment with 5 missed calls from a poor delivery guy just trying to do his job. Needless to say I don’t think I’m going back to Chicago for a while.

Oh, great, Chicago. Luckily, Touching Base will be going there from Friday to Monday in two weeks and I’ll probably be leaving with the worst Scaries of my entire life.

Until next weekend, everyone. .

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Will

Will (Twitter / Instagram) is the host of The Sunday Scaries Podcast.

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