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A Sunday with absolutely nothing to do. I hadn’t had one in a while. Before I knew it, I saw three empty spiced cider cans in the recycling bin and I had a glass of cab in front of me. At first, I wanted to beat myself up for it. But then I realized, why? Why does it matter? If I’m going to be butt deep on the couch flipping between soccer, football, and lethargic Sunday movies, why not carry a little buzz?
Yesterday’s episode of The Sunday Scaries Podcast was a little different. Normally, I have three topics of interest. But as I began writing Sunday’s episode, I had a segment on romantic comedies from the 90s. Before I knew it, I was 1,500 words deep and had the realization that it needed to be its own episode. Give it a shot.
This episode — and every other episode — is now available on Spotify as well.
Now let’s get to this weekend’s stories. As always, these are 100% anonymous to protect the guilty parties. They’re sent to me at email@example.com, so if you have one of your own, I’d love to hear it.
This past weekend was homecoming at my university, so a bunch of my good friends were flying in for the weekend to go to concerts and the like. I’m trying to figure out when they’re all coming in so I text my former roommate to ask what her plans are. And I get a very defensive text back about who told me she was coming and that she already had plans. I get the hunch that she is being like this cause she’s hanging out with this girl with whom I had a weird relationship/friendship with (we dropped the L word a lot to each other) and ended really poorly. So I get off work Friday early and make the drive to the town and sure enough the girl is there. The eye contact we made was about as awkward as you could get. She did leave though soon after. I then proceeded to get plastered on margs and ended up at an all you can drink place with my bro, Biggles. Cut to Saturday morning and tailgating with another girl, who is in a relationship, sitting on my lap at a beer garden and being really snuggly. Her boyfriend not 5 minutes later comes over and says hi and asks what up (I think he was way drunker than me and couldn’t actually articulate a response to his gf being like that). So the only appropriate response is to drink like a fish with my bro Biggles again until I ended up puking in one bar’s bathroom and then falling asleep in another bar. I will say, Sunday morning was made better by visiting two dogs I babysat.
Is dogsitting the greatest gig in the world? Honest question. I once did it for two straight months and it was legitimately the best time of my life. I’m not even sure I talked to anyone besides those dogs for two months. I mean, why would I? All my worries went away when I’d get home from work and see these two just pumped to see me. And when we ran out of food? Boom, I’d buy more with the owner’s money. One had a health problem? Bang, vet bills covered. I finally wanted to leave town when the gig was up? Here are your dogs back, Mr. and Mrs. Tell me a better side hustle — I’ll wait.
Not much of an exciting story, more so a reflective statement. I work at a Midwest company that’s big on hiring recent college grads so I have a built in friend group of 12 fresh out of school coworkers. We have a local spot for cheap food and drinks and they run a Tuesday special: 50 cent tacos with $2 beers and well shots. Turns out working with a bunch of young people who also enjoy cheap alcohol is a dangerous combo. It was a very quiet Wednesday around the office and I had my first experience with a bad hangover at work. Gone are the days of debating whether a class was worth sleeping through, replaced with the realization of having an actual job to do regardless of how my head is feeling. Can’t say it’s something I want to repeat, but also can’t say it’s something I won’t.
Yeah, not the scariest submission I’ve ever received but still of note. It’s a weird period of your life before you realize that at-work hangovers just aren’t worth it. People think that because we work in a chill office environment here in Austin that we drink at work all the time (or even just go hard at night). Legitimately couldn’t be more of the opposite. Having one too many isn’t worth it when you’re trying to record a podcast or edit a column. I’d rather be clicking around a blank spreadsheet pretending to work with a hangover than be hungover here. That being said, the trade-off is worth it.
Coming to you from the Stockholm airport. Coming off of a long vacation. Started our trip in Kenya for an 8 day African Safari. I flew home while my bf went on a month long work/vacation trip. I don’t have a traditional job so I flew home worked a few hours, flew to my parents house, then flew to Italy to meet my bf. Spent a week in southern Italy on my bf’s company’s dime. In probably the nicest place we will ever stay. Went to Florence for a few days and ended or trip at Oktoberfest. The last two weeks have taken years off my life. The final straw was me falling of a bench and breaking a stein in front of our new German friends at Oktoberfest. I started crying and my bf thought it was awesome and carried broken glass around all night. His hand is cut up, we don’t know how we got home, pretty sure a lot of pda was had, and we’ve thrown up multiple times in the Munich airport and now the Stockholm airport. Dignity was lost. We now get to go apartment shopping when we land at home because our roommate is a psychopath. And I’m starting to go back on call 24 hours a day with 12 days off a month for the foreseeable future. Life is looking not good. Vacation scaries might be worse than sober scaries. Back to reality.
At first I thought this was just one big stunt on everyone, but then… it hit. The 24 hours a day on call part just stings. That being said, I’m pretty sure no one feels bad for you because you just dominated two different continents in the span of two weeks.
And she followed up.
Just opened my Chase app. FULL PANIC HAS ENSUED.
Yep, that’ll do it.
I’m the girl that wrote in last year about the Oktoberfest in the ski town where I threw up in a parking lot and screamed at a cab driver. Well I’m going back again this year. And then I’m waking up early to drive home for the Bills tailgate and game. I’m already feeling the Sunday Scaries that will most likely be from rolling down the mountain or being thrown through a table. I’ll update you in a couple days.
I can confirm that going to a Bills game is pretty much the worst thing you could possibly do if you suffer from Sunday Scaries. Stoked for the update.
Oh, wait, here it is.
It’s me again. Started the morning of Oktoberfest strong. Made it to the top of the mountain after waiting in line for the chairlift for an hour. We drank a lot of beers over a few hours and after 10 minutes of waiting to take the lift back down said fuck it we’ll walk. It started POURING. While we were walking down a giant, grassy, muddy hill. Several members of the crew tumbled down a ways, I did not, but my entire body still hurts a full 24 hours later. Can’t imagine how my friends are feeling. We went to a few bars where I ended up having to pull the trigger at 6pm. I struggle through the next few hours until we make it back to the cabin and I immediately go to bed. Lucky me, my hangover hits at 11pm and I’m sick all night. It started pouring again so every hour I’m running outside puking off the balcony and getting soaked.
I am aggressively woken up at 7am to drive back to the city to tailgate for the Bills game. We weren’t in the bus lot where the madness happens, thank god honestly, but I nurse one beer for 2 hours and inhale 3 hot dogs because I’m so exhausted/still hungover. Then the guy that had our tickets on his phone almost got arrested at security because he threw a fit over bring told he either had to put his juul back in his car or throw it out. I almost missed the game over a fucking juul. The Bills won! So that kind of helps… But now I’m home with no food in my fridge, facing a week with several huge deadlines and the realization that I left my favorite blanket at my friends cabin. I can’t wait to do absolutely nothing next weekend.
You know you’re getting old when you eat more hot dogs at the tailgate than you consume beers. And honestly, that’s tight. I’m a mustard/chopped onion guy myself. Can’t imagine being someone who puts ketchup on their dog. Woof.
Went to my alma mater’s home game and saw my ex for the first time since she broke up with me and then proceeded to have an emotional breakdown on my way into the game. Nothing like a grown man crying as he’s walking into a football stadium. At least we won though.
It’s better than crying as you leave the stadium, my man.
Coming in live from the central market checkout line, pro tip: don’t go to CM at noon on a Sunday or during the weekend-I know better but oh well.
Sober scaries are so so real. Tomorrow I have to make a last minute decision to accept my second choice offer letter for a new job while (still)waiting for an offer from my dream job (I don’t want my second choice to retract the offer because my current job situation is no bueno and I need outsies). I tried to prevent this from happening but of course nothing works in your favor when you’re 25. To top it off both jobs are in different states, and want a start date almost immediately. So not only do I have to give my two weeks either tomorrow or Tuesday but I also have to plan a move across the country, break a lease, sign a new one and so on. Out of respect for my liver I’m attempting to not drink this week.
I don’t even know what to do at this point. Please send thoughts, prayers, Chardonnay and well wishes.
Someone at Central Market actually told me, “Never come here after 9 a.m. or before 6 p.m. on Sundays — it’s not worth it.” And that, my friends, is why you can find me at Central Market at 6 p.m. sharp every Sunday night.
That all being said, you’re 25 and seem to be in a good position. Don’t worry, moving across the country seems like it sucks but it’s actually kind of freeing. Just don’t drive with a bunch of shit in the back of a Uhaul. Sell it and buy new shit. Trust me. TRUST ME.
I went back to the alma mater this weekend for homecoming. A few buddies and I made the hour or so trip up for the football game on Saturday and actually had a great time without embarrassing ourselves. Very standard Saturday night of drinking and some bad decisions. We all ended up going home with current students, sleeping in dorms, and having to share twin beds. Update two people still don’t fit in a twin bed. We regroup Sunday morning to recount the night over breakfast before heading out.
About a half hour into the trip home a car ahead of us decides to tries to go from the right lane to illegally U turn in the median of the highway. We basically t-boned his car going 65 mph. My car is totaled. My buddies and I walked away injury free, thank you seat belts and airbags. I am picking up the rental tomorrow morning, and once the insurance gets through everything will have to buy a new car. My somewhat controllable scaries are now out of control.
I can’t think of anything worse than sleeping in a dorm. Not to get all Nived on everyone, but I guess living in an apartment is just like living in a glorified dorm. But instead of paying to go to school, you’re paying to survive this thing called “life.” Tiny boxes on the hillside and all that jazz. Fuck.
And now for an emailed called “I puked on someone’s dick.” Let’s gooooo.
This is humiliating so I’ll keep it short and sweet. I got very drunk and hooked up with a guy this weekend. As I was going down on him, my drunken gag reflex got the best of me and I vommitted, with his dick in my mouth. My only option was basically to lick it up and swallow it, and we carried on. Still don’t know if he knows, and I’m not sure that I’ll ever find out.
And may God have mercy on all of your souls. .