Blackout Wedding Dates, Dead People, And Edibles: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

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I proved something to myself on Saturday. No, I’m not proud of it. But it turns out that you can, in fact, drink for an entire day (tailgating included) without having a complete meal of food. Does it feel good come Sunday? No. Does anything taste as good as skinny feels? Turns out that the answer to that question is “yes” based on the pizza I devoured for lunch on Sunday.

Enough about me. No one cares about a washed dude like myself. People want to hear from those out there who are shooting from the hip and being as reckless as humanly possible.

As always, we break some of the following stories down on Touching Base (subscribe on iTunes and SoundCloud). All the episodes can be found below. Proceed with caution.

Alright, let’s get into this weekend’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in blockquotes below.

This stupid shitshow starts on Wednesday and continues through the weekend… I am slated to leave DC for Munich/Oktoberfest on Thursday morning at 6AM. Nbd when you never sleep through a night, because of the trains coming into Union Station at all hours of the night/morning.

I’m all packed and ask some friends to go out for a couple drinks before I leave for half a month of European travel. A coworker reminds me that the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce is having a reception on the House side, so we decide it’s better to go drink free booze rather than pay for it at a bar. We get to the reception and start double fisting wine. I had about 5 chicken nugs for dinner. The reception ends at 8PM and we decide to hit up a bar down the street. I’m drunk, but not enough to warrant any worry about the next morning’s early flight. We walk to the bar and start pounding more cheap wine. Then I blackout before 10PM.

Fast forward to 5:30AM when I wake up only to realize that my flight is boarding at this exact moment and I’m 20 minutes away from the airport. I start crying and call my credit card travel line (used points to book my flights) and explain that I’ve clearly missed my first flight and I need a new flight to get me to Toronto so I can make my 7PM flight to Munich. Shouldn’t be a problem when I have a whole fucking day as a layover, right? WRONG. Air Canada is a piece of shit bitch and tells me that if you miss one leg of a flight, they cancel all of your other flights, INCLUDING your return flights. Super cool and makes so much fucking sense. Rep on the phone says I have to rebook all my flights and proceeds to charge me $1700 for new flights + a change fee. Nice. I get back in bed and question if this is worth it until my new flight at 12:45PM.

When it gets time to leave, I order an Uber and head to the airport (that’s when I see my uber from the night before dropped me off at home before 12:30AM…not bad). Make it through security and all that and get on my flight still hungover as shit. I finally land in Munich Friday morning and head to the hotel with my Houston friends with whom I was going to Oktoberfest. We go out and drink and it’s all fine. I put the past behind me and just chug booze to forget that my credit card bill is going to be insane next month

Saturday rolls around and it’s time to head to the tents in our dirndls and lederhosen. I am pumped. Responsible me thinks “hmmm, I should put my passport and other valuable things in the hotel room safe, so I don’t risk losing anything.” I go through my purse for my passport and house keys….yet my house keys are missing. Turns out they had fallen out of my bag in the uber to DCA and now a strange man has my keys for the next two and a half weeks. I panic and call him through the uber app not realizing I’m six hours ahead of EST. I say fuck it and walk to Oktoberfest and chug beer for the next 48 hours.

Wake up Monday morning to find my group’s WhatsApp message chain flooded with pictures of me making out with some guy. Apparently he’s from NYC and the guys in my group continue to harass me for the remainder of our trip about how I flew all the way to Germany to make out with an American finance bro. They continue to pull second rate mail order bride wannabes the rest of the trip. At least my guy was hot.

Best part – when it comes time to check in for my return flights to the US, it won’t let me check in online or on the app, so I have to go to the desk the morning of my flight. The attendant informs me I’ve been double booked aka my flights were never cancelled and I was charged a shit ton of money for no reason.

I want to feel badly for you. I really do. But at the same time, if you’re able to drop $1700, you’re doing better than about 95% of the rest of the people around your age. Most people can’t afford to get their car fixed for $500, but you’re jetsetting around the world making out with finance bros in foreign countries.

Sunday 11:15 am

As I board my 5 hour flight, the anxiety hit me. I look down at my ticket – priority 6 boarding and sitting in Seat 26B. Any time you see your row is in the 20’s, you’re thinking…fuck. I’ll bet that’s the last row. This time that nightmare came true.

Let me go ahead and address the fucking rhetorical question…yes I’m hungover.

My seat won’t recline because the bathroom is at my six. I pull out my headphones to drown out the never ending flushing…but fuck me, my bluetooth headphones are dead.

Let me finish setting the table for you. So I’m middle seat, last row. I have an old lady sitting window seat and a middle aged guy to my right.

So here I am; just a man and his thoughts. About an hour into the flight, the old lady falls asleep slumping her head on to my shoulder. How am I going to get out of this? I gently shift in my seat with just the right amount of movement to get her off me…except something is wrong. When I shift her towards the window, she’s limp. Her dead weight slumps her over and leaning the other direction with her head tilted back. I look at her face and it’s a shade of grey that did not look living. I have never seen a dead body but that old broad did not look alive….

I look at the guy sitting isle seat and he has the same look of shock as me. “I’m going to ring the call bell” he says. The flight attendant comes and takes one look at her and goes into panic mode. There’s something that doctors and airline staff should always have…bedside manner. It means remain calm so you don’t cause panic, the flight attendant did not have good bedside manner.

“If there are any doctors or nurses on board we need you to the back of the plane IMMEDIATELY!!!” – she announces over the loud speaker.

Within a few seconds, all eyes on the plane are looking back at me. Let that sink in for a sec. If you thought you ever had to throw up from being hungover on a plane, try doing it with a dead body next to you and the entire plane staring you down. I’m sweating bullets.

A doctor and a nurse rush back and I’m out. Run to the lavatory and projectile. When I get back, she is stable and just fainted. She took her meds on an empty stomach, blah, blah, blah.

I’m back in my seat. 3.5 hours to go…

Worst flight of my life hands down.

I just audibly said “Oh my God” at my desk while reading this. On the scale of “Things You Should Never Do,” flying hungover in a middle seat is right up there next to “go back to your alma mater for a weekend of partying after the age of 25.” I’m not sure if you own an Apple Watch, but would love to see where your heart rate was when you saw this old lady presumably dead next to you.

Wish I could say certain parts of this past weekend never happened, but I wouldn’t be writing if they didn’t.

It started with flying cross county back to my beloved H-town for a wedding. As I sat at the airport bar, I knew I didn’t have long before my flight took off. Never have I ever waited so long for 8 chicken tenders; never have I ever ate 8 chicken tenders so quickly. Despite my speed, I was still 3 minutes late to catch my flight. Keep in mind, this wasn’t an incredibly early or late flight. It took off around 3pm. I’m just a degenerate and got drunk at the bar and wanted food.

The doors closed 10 minutes before take off and I made it 3 minutes past. So, I miss my flight. The desk attendant very kindly moved me to the next flight to an equally upgraded seat. “Perfect, surely this isn’t a bad omen; it’s gonna be a good weekend.”, I told myself.

FF to landing. Step off the flight to the hot and humid sauna city, walk up to the car rental, give them the confirmation number for the droptop I reserved last week… and it’s not there. I get a “luxury” sedan replacement. First of all, you ain’t replacin’ the drop top you reserved for your boy’s wedding with a luxury sedan. Every single groomsmen is a Toucher and I hyped this droptop more than Dave hyped his Chi-town airport outfit.

Following morning, I drive 1.5hrs through H-town traffic back to the rental to get the convertible I requested. No worries. Still gonna be a good weekend. FF to the rehearsal dinner where the MoH almost completely incriminates one of the groomsmen divulging the time the bride and groom “almost didn’t make it” because of him. A story that wasn’t even his fault nor funny (please see: the many columns on these speeches). That 6’5”, 260lb groomsman was hundo P shooketh. Thank God for whatever made her stop. All still good.

FF wedding day. Normal hang ups: deflated air mattress from the night before, church was locked, yada yada. Remember when I said the weekend still had hope? This is where it ended. My date flew in from Hawaii about 8hrs before the wedding. (I moved out of state a while back and didn’t know many single girls there anymore and I was marked down for a plus 1, naturally.) Just so happens she was out of state at the same time too, but could make it back in time. I wasn’t looking to hook up with this girl. She was there for wingman purposes and had proven to be damn good in the past. When the ceremony started, I could tell she had boozed a little. That’s okay, we all had. Here’s the thing, she only knew 1 other girl. The entire party, including guests, were complete strangers to her. My boys knew all of this and as long as she had time to help me with 1 particular bridesmaid, she was free game. She came through. The bridesmaid see’s her, they get to talking, and I can see the light.

Boom. Fuel pump on the classic vette goes down and we’re running on vapor, Maverick. The groom asks to use the droptop to drive off. Absolutely. Formerly mentioned bridesmaid and I Uber to the hotel to pick it up. What happens in the next 40 minutes is complete insanity.

I get back and my date has the guiltiest/proudest look on her face. She and my fraternity brother had commenced to hook up in the bathroom at the reception. No big deal, right? Yeah, except that the reception was at a gorgeous church reception hall. Despite the open bar, we were still in a church. A church where grandparents, flower girls, and civilians can and did walk into the bathroom while they were hitting the dirty quan.

My date is completely hammered by this point. We move back to the reception. As she’s explaining how the story came about she knocks a completely full glass of red wine on the MoH’s dress. She was livid. Nothing like a basic, drunk, sorority, MoH crying over spilled wine to really kick you in the shorts. The MoH storms off and a few of us try to console my date who is now crying as well.

My date proceeded to tell everyone at the wedding that the girl was a bitch…including the wedding coordinator…who was also in the same sorority as the bride. My date was immediately kicked out. Monday morning I footed the bill for the dress and sent her a Venmo receipt. Still no reply. She also told everyone I’m gay. That one was puzzling.

After she was kicked out, I walked up to the bar to grab another drink and guess who came walking up with a not so happy look on her face? My bridesmaid. My unicorn. I get the stink eye for a second and then a smile. “I guess none of this would have happened if we didn’t leave to pick up your car.”, she says as she grabs my phone. She puts her number in and we segue back to the hotel for the after party.

Okay, Random Internet Guy. I’ve got some things to tell you. First and foremost, this girl didn’t fly from fucking Hawaii to Houston solely to be your wingman. You don’t travel thousands of miles to help someone else hookup – you do it so you can hookup.

Furthermore, of course your hammered date is going to ignore you after you 1. ditched her to hookup with some wedding party strange and 2. sent her a Venmo receipt. Come on, man. She FLEW FROM HAWAII. I’d say you should send her flowers, but that ship has sailed. Thanks for Touching Base with us, though.

This morning I woke up to an angry girlfriend.

After blacking out on vodka red bulls and Irish car bombs last night we got in an Uber to head home. Entering the Uber is the last thing I remember.

Once inside apparently my girlfriend was trying to be cute and asked me to tell her something about myself she didn’t know. I still can’t believe it but I guess I thought this was a good time to inform her that I once slept with a stripper.

Hopefully I’ll get out of the doghouse soon.

See, this is exactly why you have to have a buddy pick you up from getting major surgery where you’re put under. I’m not saying drinking RBVs and car bombs is major surgery, but I am saying that you can’t be held responsible for what comes out of your mouth when you’re clearly six sheets to the wind.

That being said, don’t sleep with strippers.

Had a buddy come into town due to a breakup. Saturday started with shooting clays, then hit up a bar for lunch which lead to drinking the rest of day. Ended up doing adderall for the first time since college and went out to a local dancing hall. We ended up running into the after party of my ten year high school reunion. All was fine until my two buddies, who did not go to said high school, got into a room emptying brawl with a coupel pf guys from my reunion, where we were asked to promptly asked to leave. I spent the fight trying to get an after, after party going back at my house with the promise of booze and drugs. Really worried i got banned from the trash-iest bar in town and hoping the night is as hazy for my old classmates as it is for me.

Is getting banned from the trashiest bar in town really the worst thing that can happen to you? As someone who has been “banned” from a very, very trashy bar numerous times, you’re never really banned. They’re just covering their bases. Your day did sound pretty frat though.

I had a hell of a Saturday.

Friday night I was too tired so I settled for a glass from my latest shipment from the Martha Stewart Wine Club (AMEX $40 discount for 6 bottles is money) and another viewing of Master and Commander (thanks duda). After watching my Vols get embarrassed again on Saturday, I headed up to Denver for the night with some buddies who have an apt across from Coors Field. The four of us killed a handle of Vodka before we went out. Started talking to a couple girls who followed us to the next bar. For some ungodly reason I look over and my buddy is twerking on the wall. Naturally I gave it a shot and went past the critical angle, flipping end over end onto the floor apparently. Not sure how we didn’t get kicked out. The girl I was talking to thought it was really funny, I asked her if she was down for an aggressive bar makeout, and we commenced into some tongue wrestling.

This would all be really cool and funny if my wallet didn’t go flying out mid-twerk. It would be even cooler if my military ID wasn’t in said wallet. To get onto post for a flight I have at 6:30 tomorrow morning, I kinda need that ID. If the bar doesn’t have it, I’m going to have to explain to my commander how I lost my wallet and get a memo signed to get a new one. Currently waiting on the bar to open at 8 tonight so I can hopefully make the hour drive up to grab it. Also didn’t get that girl’s name or number…if you’re reading this, Sup?

If laughing at the idea of a military man losing his wallet while twerking doesn’t brighten your day, I’m not sure what will. Thanks for your service (and your story).

So this weekend was fall break, in theory this should have been a lit weekend, however things spiraled. The mayhem started Friday night after drinking several large steins on beer at Oktoberfest after eating almost nothing all day. If you guessed I would puke all over my bathroom wall when I got home, you are correct! Saturday was highlighted by having to sit through that dumpster fire of a game between OSU and UT (luckily as a cowboy). After this trying weekend the plan was to deer hunt Sunday morning then nurse the scaries the rest of the day. But while hunting it decided to rain, resulting in my truck getting stuck. After my buddy and a Good Samaritan both got stuck trying to get me out, a tow truck finally got us out around 3 p.m. I am now at home and might have the worst Sunday scaries of my life. HELP. ME.

At least you puked on your wall instead of doing it in an Uber? I honestly don’t know. I’m trying to find a silver lining here but really struggling to.

Went to a polo match this weekend (about the whitest thing you can do) and ended up getting a little too drunk. After leaving there, and making a pit stop at the liquor store, we headed to a wild game banquet (the second whitest thing you can do). Everything was going well there until we headed back to my friend’s house. As everyone left, one of my friends bet me that I couldn’t get out of handcuffs. Never backing down from a challenge, I put my hands behind my back and cuffed myself. As I tried to get my legs through my arms to get my hands on the front side of me, I got one leg through and tripped. I ended up falling head first into the drywall so hard that it ripped my hair out and it stuck through the wall. Now I have a mean hangover and what I’m starting to think might be a concussion.

I’m not sure how, but in a weekend that featured The Hunt (more on that later today), you somehow managed to be whiter than everyone there.

I’ve been told my story will make anyone feel better about their weekend. Here goes…I had planned on staying in on Friday and maybe have a glass or two of wine. I had been talking to a guy on tinder and decided to meet up with him for a few drinks. I end up finishing my bottle of wine and head out to the bar. We do not hit it off and I start to drink to make the awkwardness go away. We share two bottles of cheap wine and I also pick up a 32 oz. daiquiri and a few vodka sodas. I’m lit. I then find myself hanging out with three new guys that I meet while standing in the line at the bar. We are having a good time and decide to start taking fireball shots. I hit it off with one guy in particular. Fast forward 10 hours and I’m waking up naked in a random house. Turns out he had been visiting from out of town and we are shacking at some random house he’s staying at. I can’t find my clothes so I’m drunkenly stumbling around looking and run into some of the homeowners (still no idea who they are). I try to call an Uber and they can’t find me so I have to walk to a main street to get picked up. It’s now Sunday night and I still feel hungover and still haven’t figured out the name of the guy I shacked with. I’m 27 and too old for this shit.

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve thought “I’m too old for this shit” after the age of 27, I wouldn’t need a job. That being said, RIP to the guy who you went on a date with that ended up just seeing you go off with three other guys. That’s BRUTAL.

Went back to my alma mater (I know). Managed to avoid drinking too much Friday so I thought I’d avoid the scaries you’d normally associate with such a trip. That was before I went to DKR Saturday morning to watch my Longhorns. I also forgot a hat and sunscreen.

I also didn’t wear sunscreen to that game, and let me tell you, I’m lookin’ tan as hell. No regrets. You know, besides actually going to that fucking game.

I visited a few friends this weekend that live in Reno. The weekend began with what I thought was going to be a laidback Friday night since we were staying in and boy was I wrong. My friends got some edibles from the dispensary, since you know marijuana is legal there. This was my first time trying edibles and of course I made the mistake everyone makes their first time: taking a little bit, not feeling anything, and taking a lot more. Right after everyone went to bed it hit me hard. I laid there on my friends couch most of the night contemplating if I was going to die or not.

We woke up on Saturday and started the day with brunch. After brunch, we went into downtown for the monthly wine walk. There were 26 sample locations on this walk, me and my friends being the competitive drinking degenerates we are take this as a challenge to visit all the location. We end up making it to 15 of the locations before the event ended. We decided to keep drink downtown since we were participating in the zombie bar crawl later that evening. To keep this energy going, we got a beer tower and some food. The last thing I remember was finishing the beer tower and that was at 5:30 pm. I was told the next day that we were out until 12 am so for a solid 6 ½ hours I don’t remember anything.

The next morning I woke up to my wallet and work phone missing. (I brought my work phone out because that unlimited data and iPhone 7 camera quality compare to the iPhone 5). I used Find My iPhone app on personal phone but it couldn’t locate my work phone. At this point I get the biggest case of the Sunday Scaries I have had in my life. I began to panic so I tried calling my work phone to see if anyone would pick up and I also sent a text message to that phone saying, “if found please call my personal number”. I got no answer from anybody all day. For the rest of that day, we hung out around Lake Tahoe. I am tried to enjoy myself but all I could think about is excuses to tell my boss on Monday morning about what happened to my work phone.

My friends drop me off at the airport later that evening with no work phone or wallet. Thankfully as I was leaving my apartment, I grabbed my passport or else I would not have had an ID to fly home. When I got to the gate, my flight was delayed an hour. I decided to try calling my work phone one more time. This time a security guard at a casino in downtown Reno answers and says he had it. I had never been happier in my life. I had an hour to get downtown, get the phone back, and make it back to the gate. I sprinted out of the airport, called an Uber, got my work phone back, and made it back to the gate with only a couple of minutes to spare.

Due to the delayed flight and time curfews (They wouldn’t wait for the 25 connecting people because of this) at certain airports in Southern California, I missed my connection. I had to fly into another airport in the area which isn’t necessarily close to where I live. I am in the Uber now heading back to my apartment and the Uber is going to cost me almost $70 with an ETA of 12:10 am.

And that, my friends, is why you should never go somewhere wielding double iPhones. Like, looking after one phone is difficult enough. But two? No no no no no. Especially when said phone is paid for by your employer. .

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Will

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

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