If you’re not so drunk that you can’t count the number of drinks you had after a night out, you shouldn’t be that hungover. Unless you’re aging poorly and drinking draft beers like they’re going out of style, like someone I know. Me. I’m talking about me. Friday night. Amazing how nine drinks can make a man feel when he can’t drink like he’s in his early 20s anymore.
But that’s nothing compared to what the following storytellers had to deal with in this week’s stories. Some of the best of the best.
Alright, let’s get into this weekend’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in quotes below.
Now being over a week removed from the situation, I feel like I can write to you without losing what is left of my dignity.
So, the other weekend was Thanksgiving. Four nights of drinking and debauchery, followed by family events, followed by drinking and debauchery.
Start off with Wednesday night. It was my high school reunion. Now usually every Wednesday before Thanksgiving is a highschool reunion, but this was my real one. Three hours of an open bar during pregame hours at the most popular bar in my hometown. Sounded too good to be true, and I was right.
I decided to pregame the reunion with a couple high octane stouts because that’s smart, right? Then, at the reunion, I switched to hard liquor. Even smarter. Every old friend wanted to take a shot, and I chased each shot down with gin and tonics. Blackout by 9:30.
Fast forward to the next morning where I wake up in a fog. Looking around getting my bearings, my heart sinks. I’m in an 8×8 laying on a wooden bench with a metal toilet next to me. Having no recollection of how I got there, I assume the worst and I start to figure out how to use my one phone call to explain why I won’t be making Thanksgiving dinner this year.
What felt like two hours later, a cop comes in and explains I got brought in for public drunkenness, and I will be released as soon as I blow below .08. At 11am, my bac was still too high, so they called my dad and released me to him. Boy was that a silent ride home.
When I get there, I realise I desperately need nicotine, but am too drunk to drive and get a pack. I somehow convince my mom who hates the idea of cigarettes to take me to Wawa when she goes to pickup our turkey. She obliges and drops me off so I can smoke one in the lot.
Halfway through the cig, my stomach gives way and I’m ready to hurl. Seeing a cop in the lot, I run around back hoping not to get noticed. I didn’t make it. Sure enough the cop spots me and comes over to check in on me. Mid puke, I’m trying to explain to him that I’m fine, not driving, and just super hungover. Sure enough, my mom pulls up as he’s talking to me, and I can see the worry in her eyes. She frantically tells the cop that she’s got me and shoves me in the car as soon as my stomach finished.
I manage to sleep it off and make it to dinner at the last second after my parents had already told everyone it was highly doubtful I was making it this year.
I wish I could say I learned my lesson, but I went right back to my normal degenerate life the next day.
I write this to you now having just signed over my entire Christmas bonus to the courts.
Somehow, out of all that, the lowest point of this entire story is you asking your mom to take you to get cigarettes and her leaving you alone to smoke them in a parking lot. And that’s coming from a guy who once waited for thirty minutes outside of a Hooters to open so he could watch the Daytona 500 and drink $1.00 Miller Lites.
I recently relocated to a new city for work about 3 months ago. I made friends relatively quick but I moved here not knowing a single person, so once I got settled in with my new position and what not, I decided to fire up the dating apps. I’d built a solid roster, experienced a lot of new spots, and had some fun to say the least.
Things seemed great until fast forwarding to this weekend.
I went out on Friday with some friends, not too wild of a night but a good time, and woke up to gorgeous weather so I decided to day drink with a few friends starting at noon. One of my friends and I had plans to go to a concert, but said concert didn’t start until midnight, so we decided to get some adderall (which ended up being vyvanse) to take mid-day, that way we could make it through the night and not pass out before. It worked like a charm, and by time midnight rolled around we were definitely liquored up and ready to go.
What happened over the next 4 and a half hours is truly something to behold. I ran into someone who had a mutual admiration for my favorite NBA team, and it was his 21st birthday, so I insisted on buying his drinks all night. Some random guy next to me asked if I wanted to do a key bump of coke, so I obliged and participated, then the same guy also had what he said was ecstasy but I honestly have no idea what it was, but also participated in. The show winds down at about 2:45, and said friend and I decide to go to keep it going and go to a bar that’s open until 4:30 that I’d never been to, which is known for being a total shit show (it was).
Next thing I knew, I woke up Sunday and it was 1:30 in the afternoon, I had the worst hangover I’ve had all year, and I had texts from two girls different girls I’d been semi talking to saying “I think it’s best that we don’t see each other anymore.” I had no recollection of any conversations the night prior, and the worst part is that I’d deleted like 90 percent of my texts the night before for whatever reason, so I have absolutely no idea what was said (unless it was just a big coincidence), but given that it wasn’t anything serious, and I’m not necessarily looking (or ready) for that, I decided to let it go which is probably for the best.
Fast forward to about 7 o clock, and I got a phone call from another girl saying we need to have the “what are we” talk in person. So I get to deal with that soon. And to cap it all off, my fantasy team lost in the first round of the playoffs, and right before I went to bed I saw an email from my parking company saying that monthly rates were increasing at the start of 2018. I woke up this morning, deleted all dating apps, and came to a very sad but true conclusion that at the age of 27 I’m still far too immature for anything serious. I need a break, I’m too old for this shit.
Holy hell. This is an instant entry into anxiety-inducing story of the week. For starters, I respect the move of deleting your texts the night before. That being said, I don’t think it works out when you’re firing off texts to girls you may/may not want to be starting relationships with. Not sure if your phone’s connected to anymore devices that these messages could come through on, but be careful when you fire up that iPad.
Furthermore, we NEED to know how the in-person talk went.
It is Monday and I am still having scaries from last Tuesday.
It started off being a chance for my friends and I to blow off some steam before finals and quickly turned into the kind of night where you have to lie to your doctor the next morning.
At the pregame we were switching between shots of Smirnoff and cheap tequila. After about six shots each, we headed to the bars at around 11. Knowing two of the bartenders, we were immediately greeted by another round of tequila shots. Now at this point I’m feelin myself and dancing way more than should be legal. Luckily I’m cut off for awhile and socializing more before I decided to chug an ~adios motherfucker~ which is just a can of red bull with vodka added to it that you shotgun. Great decision.
Then my friend decides she wants to FaceTime some guy so we were walking around being dumbfucks. At this point I decid to climb onto a planter and end up on top of a hardtopped trashcan dancing. When my friend looks up she tells me to jump on her back to get down. Now, I’m fairly athletic but my cordination was subpar at that moment. In my pathetic attot to jump on her shoulders I fell headfirst into the brick below me. After getting up and doing a few cartwheels, I find a guy on the side of the bar and he follows me back to my place.
I wake up the next morning fully clothed with a naked guy in my bed and a massive concussion. The scaries were at an all time high by Thursday when I tried going out again only to find out that concussions make me an even bigger lightweight.
It’s been nearly a week and the concussion is still raging.
If your doctor’s concussion protocol is anything like the NFL’s, get back out there this weekend and start doing shots of Smirnoff and cheap tequila.*
*That’s the worst advice I’ve ever given.
Sigh. I woke up this morning and my first thought was: you need to email this to Will. I’m confused but whatever.
Last night I made the mistake of mixing vodka soda with adult apple cider and the results were disappointing. My roommate was smart enough to see that I needed to go home so ordered us a car. I got in the backseat of a mini van (should have gotten in the front) driven by a very nice man who I think learned to drive somewhere that doesn’t have traffic because the stopping and starting was so jarring I threw up on myself.
It was one of those moments where I tried not to. I had my hand over my mouth and my lips sealed closed and it still ended up all over my coat. I don’t think the driver noticed though.
There was another girl in the car other than my roommate and it took everything in her power to not blatantly turn around and stare at me. Props to her.
I now have to get on a train/bus/plane combo to fly home for a funeral and the scaries are bad. Send thoughts and prayers please.
A train/bus/plane itinerary the night after throwing up on yourself in the back of a mini van? To a funeral? I’m not going to say “Ts and Ps” because everyone has completely worn that phrase out, but seriously, stay strong.
Never thought I’d be here but alas my time has come. It all started Thursday at the company holiday party. I decided I would hide how much I actually drink by slamming 5 very strong whiskey sours before I got there.
Upon arriving I was greeted at the door with an old fashion and immediately went to the bar to chase that with more whiskey. A hand full more of those, tequila shots and for knows what else I find myself on the dancefloor making a fool of myself right next to the CEO and his wife. No memories after that but my girlfriend and I suspect someone sent us home since neither of us had an uber charge. Show up late to work on Friday and miss a meeting. Through the course of the day at least 5 people stopped by my desk to see how I was feeling. FML.
I didn’t eat a drop Friday and slept that whole night since I had to be up at 5am on Saturday. Do more stupid training stuff for a side job I’m starting and the older guys decide to Ice me with a tall boy and fuck me the night goes down hill again. We end up at some shitty strip club in the middle of bumfuck PA and they buy me a lapdance from the ugliest dancer there. Those were the mellow parts, here’s where it gets bad.
I’m driving back today, Sunday, through the Lincoln tunnel when all of a sudden I have to let out a shit. I’m squirming in my car trying to find the nearest alley after the tunnel so I can drop this load cause holy fuck it’s coming fast. Every place is too public so I find my lunchbox/bag in the back seat, open it up and proceed to take a wattery shit in my lunch box while in the driver seat of my car. I FUCKING MISSED THE LUNCHBOX AND TOOK A WATERY SHIT ON MY SEAT!!! It was everywhere and I almost throw up. So now I’m scrambling trying to find every napkin I can to clean up the shit, wipe my ass and any other surface that somehow managed to get my shit all over it. I cover my seat with as much paper towel as I can and the plastic wrapping of my dry cleaning. I drove with thw windows down until the first rest stop I could find. I’m currently sitting in a rest stop stall writing this so I don’t have to go back to my shit smelling car. I may just leave it here and start walking until I I’m so far away that I won’t be able to speak the native language.
Holy hell. I thought it was bad that you had people coming to your desk after the holiday party but then you pooped yourself in your car. Never thought I’d say that, but here we are.
If you need some help with company holiday party etiquette, look no further than the December 11th episode of Dudes Doing Business.
And onto the next one.
On Saturday night, I went out to celebrate my friend’s birthday. I drank a fair amount between the two bars. The night out itself was fun, but nothing crazy. However, when my friend and I got back to my house, I stubbed my toe while getting ready for bed, subsequently breaking it. What I didn’t realize was that the pain from breaking my toe masked the pain of apparently splitting it wide open and almost to the bone. I only discovered this this morning when I woke up and discovered what basically looked like a crime scene on my floor and in my bed. Being a nursing student with no health insurance (it’s my second degree), I decided to use my skills to bandage it up myself. The only pair of shoes I have that I can get my foot into without excruciating pain are flip flops. The warmest it’s supposed to be this week is mid 40s. Also, it’s finals week.
As someone who recently stubbed their toe and complained about it for a good five days, I feel your pain. Except, you know, the fact that you did this to the bone. I’m floored as to how you can be a nursing major without health insurance though. That’s like me being a blogger without wearing sweatpants to work everyday.
My Friday night/reason for wanting to quit the dating game even though I finally just got back into last week after almost a year hiatus.
I went on a 2nd date with this guy and we ended up meeting up with his friends for drinks. My date somehow went from 0 to 100 real quick. He was petting my head and essentially putting me in sleeper holds to kiss my head. His friends kept saying that someone needed to take the guy home because he was becoming unresponsively drunk. I wanted to get out of there on my own, however his friends were being dicks and not bringing the guy, who was sitting with his head down and randomly started getting a bloody nose, home. So I got us a Lyft and we headed back to his place. He immediately passed out on my lap and then I had to carry him to his apartment. We get inside his apartment and he books it to the kitchen sink where he promptly vomits…a lot…several times. I got the guy some water and put him to bed. He kept wanting me to snuggle with him and kept refusing to drink water. I was really worried he was going to choke on his vomit so I had to turn into his caretaker pretty much. I sat in his apartment for 20 mins, texted his friends, and left.
Needless to say there won’t be a 3rd date. I’m not one to judge someone for getting wasted, however this was the 2nd date. Come on man! I didn’t get puked on so I guess that’s a win?
You’re probably the nicest person I’ve ever met, and I’ve never met you. That was inspiring and you shouldn’t have done all that for that guy. What a monumental dumbass.
But I think we all know why he “randomly got a bloody nose.” I’m talking about cocaine.
Hopefully someone can find humor in my dumpster fire of a weekend to make it even slightly okay.
Started off my Saturday dressed as Slutty Santa for a festive bar crawl. However, it quickly became clear that everyone and their father was tailgating the army/navy game. Because the squad has very little shame, we decided to head over to xfinity (essentially a big group of bars that’s right in the middle of all of the philly stadiums) and join the tailgate scene. In our wildly inappropriate costumes.
Fast forward to the next morning and I wake up in a hotel in bed with random. Not great, but not exactly worst weekend material. But as we’re talking and as my memories are coming back to me I realize that the guy I just slept with is a 47 year old married dad (I’m in my early 20’s, for reference) who was on a “boys weekend” with his college aged son and some of his friends/their fathers. Also, in true psycho fashion, the dad took the condom off half way through the first round of sex the night before because “it feels better.” So now not only do I have to deal with the shame and guilt of accidentally fucking a married man in the hotel room he was supposed to share with his son, but I also get to look forward to a week’s worth of volatile mood swings after adding Plan B to this morning’s daily pill intake. Side note: dad dick isn’t even that great.
“Side note: dad dick isn’t even that great.”
Happy Monday, everyone. .