======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
There I sat. The Lions unable to score a touchdown from within five yards. One of my favorite all-time athletes on the verge of winning a World Series with another team. No more Stranger Things to watch. “What do I even have to live for?” I ask myself.
And then I checked my email and saw a plethora of stories from those in worse shape than me. Thank you.
Alright, let’s get into this weekend’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in blockquotes below.
This weekend large amounts of Alum and Collegiate made a Nola trip for an away game. I’m talking 2 full tour busses of the rowdiest college kids and wise enough alum to make the 10 hour road trip in their own vehicles.
Drove through the night on Thursday to get their early Friday morning. Checked into the AirBNB with my bf and began pounding beers with everyone as we ventured to Bourbon Street. No food, 5 “Hand Grenades” (a glowing green time bomb) and other substances caused me to black out way too early into our little adventure. Came to crying on a curb and a very livid boyfriend. Sobered up and ended up at a Strip club in the French Quarter when one of my guy friends received a lap dance from a very pregnant stripper. Guess he got a 2-for-1 deal? (okay, I’m going to hell).
Got separated from my bf and friends and wandering the streets with a dead phone (not something a 23 y.o. blonde girl wants to do in Nola). I ended up paying an UberEATS driver at a McDonalds $20 to take me to the hotel the collegiate were staying. Woke up very confused and lucky to be alive. Still have my phone and purse and decent amount of cash. Leggo night number 1.
The next morning my BF, his friends and I go on a hunt for lost friends, dignity, iphones and wallets through New Orleans in yesterday’s clothes and my hair extensions stuffed into my purse. No such luck. We shower change and rallied again with more Hand Grenades and 3-for-1 Hurricanes. We finally got some good Cajun food, found more strip clubs, and more debauchery. Your girl held her liquor better this day. Everyone besides the BF and I went to our Alma Mater’s tailgate and football game, we decided to nap, change and caught a voodoo parade. Then round 3 of going out.
I rode a mechanical bull in a dress, got a LOT of beads (one knows how one gets beads in Nola) and again lost my BF. Drunk and tired I went home with our mutual friends to their AirBNB and passed out a random bed. Ubered to the AirBNB I paid for but never stayed at the next morning. Our 10 hour drive home took 13 hours and we didn’t get home until 2:00 am. One of the 5 people crammed into a truck sharted his pants about half way into the drive. The other 4 of us very hung-over passengers suffered dearly. Today I was late for work, I look like warmed up death and I’m shaking at my desk. I will never go back to New Orleans.
I have a years worth of scaries.
Honestly, I kind of blacked out for the majority of your email after I read the two-for-one stripper joke. My eyes widened like that one Emoji who just looks like he saw his (her?) mom naked. My girlfriend bought me a plane ticket to New Orleans for my birthday which happens to fall two days after New Year’s Eve, which means I’ll be on a three-day bender there come the end of December. None of these stories give me an encouragement.
I’m currently sitting in O’Hare waiting on my next flight. The TV is blaring jazz music, which is making me contemplate ending it. It started yesterday when I said I wasn’t going to drink and I was going to bed early. Instead I met up with an ex slash ongoing fling from out of town… A bottle of bourbon and some green things later, I’m naked on the patio doing unsavory things. My flight was at 5am, so I haven’t slept at all and now I smell like bourbon and cum in the airport. Smells like regret. This flight is leading to a big ass weeklong interview…. Coming in hot.
You somehow fit so much into so little. I have some scorched thoughts on ORD Airport (mainly because I once went to bathroom and they had zero toilet paper in any of the twenty stalls), but I’ll save those because I have some advice for you. Never smoke weed before a job interview. Or, you know, drink a bottle of bourbon and stay up until 5 a.m.
Don’t Go Back To Your Alma Mater: Halloween Edition
So I gave it the old college try to not return to my school for Halloweekend; however I currently live in my college town & work in a nearby city. My younger sister had just turned 21 a few weeks ago (another shit show weekend there) and we both wanted to celebrate another round of her deathly being able to legally drink. I started the night by ripping two shots of whiskey while listening to thriller (shouts out to Spotify for the Halloween vibe playlists) and I was feeling good. Way too good in fact, especially since I had smoked some reefer prior to the shots.
Sister picks me up & we head to her place to take pictures, etc. She then tells me that she won’t be drinking tonight due to some health issues that have cropped up recently, leaving me to be the drunk degenerate sibling of the night. As we walk into bar #1 of the night I run into an old male friend from my early college years, a friend of an old ex. He starts hanging out with sister & I buying us shots, drinks, etc. Things seem to be going well, we migrate to bar #2 of the night (a well known shit show establishment) and that’s where it all goes to shit. Sister is pissed that our night out has turned into her 3rd wheeling (I don’t blame her looking back) but I was already on the warpath to black out city and I didn’t give two fucks as she peaced out to find her big. I thought she was still staying at the bar so I wasn’t too worried about finding her again.
I proceed to go into full hoe mode with friend of ex as we go to the cesspit of the dance floor. I distinctly remember doing a full public makeout (which I am not a fan of) and twerking on him. We start talking about smoking weed post bars & then for some reason leave for bar #1. By this point I’m blacked & some guy in a Bama shirt buys me more shots at bar #1. I lose track of friend of ex dude & try to black out text him with little success. Dude straight up ghosted & left me at the bars I think. So I start to walk back to my place & I meet this dude as I’m walking and we decide to grab food together at Mcdonalds. I get there only to realize I really don’t want food & that I’m really fucked and need to get home.
I then got into a fight with some frat boy over how the cubs are trash & got him triggered as fuck and screaming in the middle of McDonald’s about how the cubs aren’t trash. Went home & watched the first episode of stranger things & then proceeded to have the most ungodly hangover all of Saturday. My post grad body paid the price for a night of under grad level drinking. It’s currently 11:30 am on Sunday and scaries have already hit. Praying that iced coffee & Netflix bingeing will help.
Wait, are you the same person that just emailed in? Did you black out and re-email me? Are we dealing with some Stranger Things now-memories right now? Either way, congratulation on the dance floor makeout. Those are few and far between in post-grad.
And now for a two-parter that includes a photo.
I love everything about this website and I’m able to relate to it! I’m glad there’s a place where there are people that relate to the struggle that is your 20s.
Anyway, let’s cut to the story.
Let me preface that my work schedule is completely shit and I have Sundays and Thursdays off. This means I work Saturdays, so I usually don’t go out.
This being Halloween, I’d give it a go. I’m dressed up as Luigi with a legitimate moustache giving it my 110%.
We start the night by hitting the slopes and 1800 tequila shots. The plan was to go from the pregame to a slew of house parties. We get to the first house all right and I drink a decent amount.
We were supposed to go to the second house and I got lost from the group. I was walking aimlessly for 2 hours and covered about 4 miles (but hey, at least I got my steps in).
I just so happen that I wandered to a separate friend’s house so I could call my Uber.
I check my Google Fit to see where I had walked. It turns out, I just had to take a left somewhere before. The distance was barely 0.3 miles.
It’s Sunday and I have a terrible hangover and I keep finding not-boogars in my nose. Scaries are at the highest point in a while.
He also included this photograph for reference.
Aaaaaaand then followed up.
Here’s an update that’ll 1000x the scaries:
I just got an email from Lyft charging me $150 for puking on the car. There goes $150 I could have saved and I hope my Lyft score doesn’t go down.
The route you took there is absolutely unbelievable. Use Waze for me one time, dude. Also, your Lyft score is definitely going down. You barfed in this dude’s car. Would you forgive someone if they barfed in your car for $150? I’d have to get, like, $1,000 to make it worth it.
Will: Don’t go back to your alma mater.
Me: dOn’T gO bAcK tO yOuR aLmA mAtEr.
Currently experiencing my worst scaries ever after 3 days of steady intoxication. On Thursday, I started drinking at 2pm for my alma mater’s football game. As I walked into the game with my friends, I found a credential face down on the ground that someone must’ve dropped. I picked it up. Turns out it was an all-access pass. My incredibly hammered self started getting some ideas.
I went and watched the 2nd quarter from the field just because I could. The 2nd half is where it got interesting. I walked into the press box like I owned the place. I made friends with all the staff up there. Took tons of selfies. Then I went to this hidden staircase so I naturally walked up. At the top was a private party with the university’s president. I took one look at the food table and darted toward it. I got a full plate, and it tasted so good but my anxiety started taking over. I wanted to mingle more but I looked so out of place and I thought I might spaz and blow my cover, so I decided to resume watching the game from my seat with my friends. Absolutely exhilarating.
On Friday morning, I had to catch a flight to Michigan to visit family. I’ve thrown up on 2 planes recently from being hungover, and I was determined to break that habit. However, gradually things started getting worse. My seat assignment: 36D aka dead last row of the plane. Who was in the window seat at 36E? A 7 year old kid with about 12 stuffed animals and a notebook to draw in (thankfully not an almost dead lady like that poor soul last week though). He kept showing me his toys and I had to pretend to be interested, and I kept getting more and more nauseous.
Then, it was coming. And I couldn’t get up to go to the bathroom because the plane was literally taking off. I threw up into a bag (thankfully) and the kid stares at me and then starts hysterically crying. His parents weren’t with him so I tried to comfort him but now he was scared of me. I couldn’t get off that plane fast enough. Afterwards, I was somehow able to go to 4 breweries that day with family and I’ve been just continuously drinking since. And then I stayed up at my cousin’s Halloween house party until 5am last night. They just moved in yesterday and we broke the bathroom door and removed parts of the kitchen floor while blackout. It’s now Sunday night. I’m currently wearing my white scaries shirt at the airport bar just absolutely dreading the work week ahead. I need to inject myself with a salad. And maybe seek help.
Hahahahahahaha. This somehow beats last week’s story where a woman almost died, purely because the thought of you trying to comfort this kid after throwing up everywhere is hysterical.
It is currently 4:55pm CT and I am an Astros & Cowboys fan running on 4 hours of sleep. That is all.
Well, you went 2-0, bud. Time to get Forever Tiger Justin Verlander a ring tonight.
Coming at ya live from a bar at the Kansas City airport headed home after eight days in Mexico.
I am sunburnt and my foot has been bleeding since last Sunday night. My boyfriend keeps taking me by the left hand, stroking my ring finger, and going, “wow, look at it. So bare.”
I will say that I have eight chicken fingers hidden in my carry on, so that’s good.
I am toeing the line between drunk and hungover and I kinda wish I were dead.
…Todd, is that… is that you? Just kidding – even Todd isn’t that psychotic to do something like that. That’s just diabolical.
My girlfriend and I are sitting in the Kansas City airport while I drink corona and she drunk snapchats. We’re both a little (she’s very) drunk after our 20 hour stay in my hometown following our weeklong Mexican vacation. We both take off in less than an hour and land close to 10:30 pm. We’ve made terrible decisions. She seems to think this is a bad time for us to discuss moving across the country and moving in together, but she looks so cute in her Kansas City hat. It’s an ongoing convo at this point and I’m not sure my scaries have been at a higher point this far into my life.
And here, my friends, is the other side of the story. This is just too good. The real-life love story our site needed. I mean, if you’re already taking vacations and chilling in the hometown together, you should probably just bite the bullet and move in together. But not in Kansas City. Do it somewhere way more tight and keep me posted because I’m v invested in this relationship.
Headed your advice and did not go back to my alma matter and instead had a total of 5 people over to watch the Buckeye game. When things looked perilous in the third quarter my fiancé and her two friends took shots to numb the pain. Bucks come back to when and they proceed to take celebratory shots. We then head to a pregame for a party bus (only one of the girls is going on said bus). We leave her at the pregame and the four of us make our way to the bar. Fifteen minutes later I get a call from the girls phone that she drunken fell and broke her nose and I need to come get her. I run the half mile to the house as she’s bleeding and crying and am able to shepherd her back to my house. After cleaning off her face and getting ice on her nose I check my phone to see five missed calls and a list of texts from my fiancé all containing some form of “fuck you, I can’t believe you left me.” I had left her at the bar with no means of payment and the bill came while I was dealing with the wounded. I then raced back to the bar when I am greater by my blacked out fiancé who promptly punches me and then “mother fucker” the whole walk home screening through the neighborhood. So I spent my evening taking care of which ended up actually being a broken nose and my extremely drunk and extremely distraught fiancé. But hey at least I don’t need plastic surgery like the poor soul on my couch.
Maybe even more so than never going back to your alma mater, never leave your fiancee for another girl. A broken nose isn’t like a broken leg, bud. I’m not sure how you went about justifying this to your fiancee but you can’t leave her high and dry like that.
T&P’s to everyone sending shit in.
So I’m hitting the town with the squad. We walk in the bar and my friends immediately order vodka shots with Redbull chasers. They order 6, but there is only 5 of us…. turns out, I’m taking double, since I am newly single. Fast forward an hour, and the squad is getting kicked out because one friend “allegedly” puked in the bathroom (there is no proof). Head to bar #2, walk in, and that’s where my memory ends. I wake up at 4 AM and I am in a unused deep freezer alone inside the bar.
Let’s repeat that, alone, inside the bar’s unused deep freezer, completely alone. (By some miracle I have all my belongings, and it looks like there was no fowl play, also blessed that the deep freezer was not on) The back exit has a master lock on it, I have a mini anxiety attack because I AM TRAPPED IN THE BAR. So what do I do? Start using a bottle opener to pull the hinges out of the dry wall, so I can open the door to sweet freedom. After what seems like an eternity I have busted my way out of the bar.
On the way home my Uber driver gave me a talk about how “alcohol is not the answer”, “I’m lucky I didn’t get taken”, and “I should probably not drink so much”. I would like to say I will listen to him, but the past 2 weeks the Astros have only won when I’m #AvionOne, (#AvionWon?) So it is 6 PM, full on scaries, and I’m trying to decide if my liver can be Houston Strong.
Who does straight vodka shots after the age of, like, 19? Nice job MacGyvering your way out of the bar, though. And I have no pity for anyone who’s hungover and an Astros fan. Playoff runs like this are meant to be benders. Savor it. Love it. It all comes crashing down eventually and you find yourself in the midst of four rebuilding years all occurring at once.
So last night me and the gf get dressed as Napoleon and Deb. Pretty much killed it. We start the night off with a little bit of martinis made at home. After that, we head to a Halloween party at a friends house where we drank vodka. Around this time, I realize I haven’t eaten anything all day. Then I take two shots of Jameson. Fast foreword to this morning, because I can’t remember anything after that. I wake up in my gfs bed and she’s not there, nor is my dog. Apparently we screamed at each other for 45 minutes. My dog chose her side in the argument, so I must have been a real asshole. Then I threw up for the first time. I start to shake and sweat for 25 minutes. Then I threw up again. Repeat these steps for the rest of the day. I’ve thrown up in 6 different sinks and two different toilets today for a total of 10 times.
I have bruises all over my body and my head feels like I got hit by a pick axe. And I’m out of my anti anxiety medicine. I may die tonight.
You never want your dog to choose anyone but you. Man’s best friend. As someone who has never once thrown up from a hangover, I can’t imagine coupling barfing with the anxiety of what you just described. The best hangover cure is a dog cuddled up by your feet while you drink a 32-ounce ice water.
As always, thank you to everyone who sucked it up and submitted. It may get worse before it gets better, but it always gets better. Well, not always, but can’t wait for next weekend. .