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Bottomless Mimosas, Roommate Hookups, & Cougars: These Are The Worst Weekend Stories

This is a recurring PGP series. Catch up with all installments of Worse Weekends Than You by visiting the archive. Email your stories to will@grandex.co.

Worst Weekends

You know what sucks? Moving. You know what sucks more than having your toenails ripped off like Jason Bateman in Ozark? Helping someone else move. And that’s exactly what I did all weekend. I won’t expound upon it because it’s not worth either of our time.

Oh, and that whole Ozark thing from earlier wasn’t a spoiler. Just a teaser.

Let’s get into the worst stories.

This is a bit of a doozy: I was at politics camp at Georgetown university for a week and on the last night me and the friends I made there decided we wanted to get hammered, so while they called “here” for me at the night session, I was roaming the streets looking for illicit substances. I found a couple stoners and they directed me to a local hangout for smokers. I ducked under the police do not enter tape and popped a squat next to a few 25ish year olds who were rolling up. After purchasing some weed I began smoking with them, and was rolling another J when RZ, (one of the guys) runs up yelling, “12, 12!” I look over to see 5 cops running up the staircase.

The guys, (who had informed me they worked as drug dealers for a gang on the east side of DC) told me to follow them, and we dipped out up to the street. At this point we were smoking and chilling right in downtown in an upper class neighborhood with families walking by. I ask another of the guys, Ju, to get me some alcohol and next thing I know I’m knocking back shots of svedka and apple ciroq with 5 gang members in a park while two kids and their parents watch. At this point my friends get out and come to join and find me fairly wasted with 5 strangers, the rest of the night was a blur, we drank with homeless people, I hooked up with two girls on a beach volleyball court, and I had such a bad hangover I was throwing up all through the morning session. The things we do for a good story.

Oh and I’m 17.

I don’t think any single bit of this story is true (minus the “politics camp” at Georgetown) but I wanted to include it to let everyone know what we’ve officially infiltrated the 17-year-old demographic.

So my boyfriend’s best friend from college was visiting the great city of Denver this weekend (I know everyone hates people that move to Colorado after graduation but it’s the best thing I ever did so don’t hate). We took him out for a nice night on the town on Friday night, and then Saturday morning we (myself, my best friend, my boyfriend, and his best friend) headed to a place a few blocks from my apartment for brunch and bottomless mimosas. After crushing her first two mimosas and being rewarded with a “y’all know this girl is kicking your asses right?” by our waitress, my best friend apparently made it her mission to get drunker than anyone ever has on a Saturday morning. (Keep in mind the waitress also informed us that a mere 3 of their mimosas contained over a bottle of champagne).

After being gently removed from our table to make room for the people who had an actual reservation, we went down to the ground floor to continue drinking and watch the band that was playing. In no time at all my best friend is telling my boyfriend’s best friend about her love of sloth bears (“they’re SO fluffy and live in the Indian situation” [India]), and how much water she consumes on a regular work day (“at work I am SO well hydrated”). We leave the restaurant after bottomless last call, and she immediately drops her leftover breakfast on the sidewalk outside. We start walking back to our place to hit the pool and some more drinks, I’m bonding with my boyfriend’s best friend, and my best friend and boyfriend are walking behind us. After a block or so we turn around to find the two of them missing and backtrack to find they had ducked into a bar where there was a Crawl for Cancer bar crawl happening. My best friend buys us all pineapple infused tequila shots and immediately throws up in her hands while standing at the bar. Somehow, no one notices except for us and we grab a bunch of napkins to clean her up, and she announces that she can’t take another shot but would love another drink.

Fast forward about an hour or so and she’s walking around the bar buying shots for the cancer survivors and making friends by slapping people on the back (she also bought us all vodka sodas and asked if “anyone was gonna drink this Four Loko shit I bought”). Not long after she starts crying because she can’t find her phone or debit card and has strangers helping her look for them. I have my boyfriend rescue her purse from her so that I can look through it for her stuff (shocker, her phone and card are together in the front pocket) and some girl who I’ve never met before comes over to ask if I “really know this girl, because ummm that’s her purse”, yeah thanks I got it.

After a trip to the hot dog place down the street, I walk hand in hand with my best friend the two blocks home and put her to bed promptly at 6:30 pm, ensuring that we miss the concert we were to attend at 6 pm. Woke up to about seven texts from her at 4 am freaking out because it was night time and she didn’t remember anything that happened during the day, which is probably for the best am I right?

Bottomless mimosas are never truly bottomless if they turn you into a blubbering wreck. That being said, glad she’s hydrating at work. I aim for 120 ounces a day of water, and judging by how much she drank this past weekend, she should too.

I start my fifth year of college tomorrow. It probably won’t be my last.

Aim high, kid. Aim high.

Let me preface this story by mentioning my buddy skipped work on a Friday to drive 13 hours to see me and wound up in jail.

That being said, I spent half of Saturday back and forth over the phone with a detention center until I was able to finally bail him out that early afternoon. Our plan was to drink all of Saturday together, but he decided finding an attorney may be a better move on his part. Not to have my Saturday ruined by a buddy’s downfall, I decided to hit an apartment pool with another friend that late afternoon. We proceeded to drink aggressively to the point where I was laying in the front lawn of the the apartment complex when the uber picked us up.

After returning home, I got ready and had Jail-bait tag along for a dinner with an alumnus from the school we currently attend. Jail-bait refrained from drinking, while alumnus and I ramped up the pace while eating and went out after. Because the alumnus is full-time, he makes a large salary and has no problem throwing drinks my way until I go full blackout mode. He did just that before he decided to go home and apparently tried to bring me with… but I of course hopped in an uber to the next bar where a few other interns were.

I snapped out of the blackout as I was being booted from that bar and found myself alone with no cash in my wallet and a dead iPhone. I decided to grab pizza before realizing I had absolutely no way home. After begging countless people to call me a free uber, a nice enough guy finally agreed to. When I returned to my apartment, I found myself outside without my key (Jail-bait used it to head home after dinner) during a torrential downpour.

I then decided to sprint to the police department not far down the road to ask for help. After agreeing to help me get into my apartment, the man behind the desk asked me TWICE if I needed immediate counseling (I must have looked extremely distraught). I obviouly told him no and eventually, around 4am, my room was unlocked so I could get to bed.

The Sunday Scaries hit me pretty hard that next day… but not nearly as hard as Jail-bait who had to make the 13 hour drive home and forgot his carry-on suitcase full of clothes at my apartment on top of that.

While I’m sorry for how shitty your night went, I can’t stop laughing that you found it more prudent to get a piece of pizza than to figure out 1. How you were getting home, 2. Where all your money went, and 3. How you could catch a charge on that phone of yours. Strong weekend.

Let me start this story by saying I’m 25 and just recently moved to a new city where I didn’t know anyone. My living situation is a house full of guys because it was the only place I could actually secure in the two weeks I had to move here for a new job. One of the guys is a newly 21-year-old. Last night we were the only ones in the house and I had been guzzling the rosè all day so we ended up at one of the only bars in walking distance. Needless to say we ended up hooking up and it’s all a giant blur but I’m currently in my bed with the worst wine hangover typing this email drinking my venti cold brew with my boss email blasting me (he’s been on vacay for two weeks so tomorrow is already going to be bad) with the worst wave of Sunday Scaries at a ripe 12:05pm. I obviously can’t leave my room ever again.

Meanwhile, while you’re huddled up in your room, your 21-year-old roommate is walking around the house like he owns the place just handing out high fives. I hate to tell you this, but there was probably a pool going for who would hook up with you first. Brush it off. You’ll be fine.

Saturday I consumed a painfully disgusting amount of alcohol between 10 am – 2 am. The rough order was vodka, beer, mimosas, an Irish carbomb, mimosas, beer, tequila, an ice, beer, wine and then beer. I was pretty much useless by the time we strolled out to the bars. Then on the walk home, my friend sack-tapped the shit out of me. I was down for the count and I became even more useless. It was a real dick move. This is for sure gonna be a dreaded two-day hangover.

Stop sack-tapping each other, guys. We’re too old for this shit and I’m embarrassed I even need to tell you.

Went to a country concert on Saturday. Blacked out on the car ride there. Ended up dancing with some guy’s wife and apparently my friends had to hold him back from kicking my ass (even though the chick said it was fine and that she was having fun). Almost lost my phone and wallet, but thank god for my friends again for picking them up for me. As we were leaving, the encore started so I broke away from my group to go dance more. Some 50 year old woman grabbed me and started dancing with me and then we ended up making out a bit. Took me like 20 minutes to find my friends again but made it back to the car. I made brunch this morning to thank my friends for taking care of me.

You felt that bad that you needed to make brunch for everyone? I feel like you expect to do exactly what you did at this country show: get hammered, dance recklessly, and hope to make out with someone twice your age. You checked all the boxes. Wear it with pride.

Is is possible to experience vicarious scaries? I thought my weekend was going pretty well with minimal scaries fodder until I popped open Snapchat twenty minutes ago. Buddy of mine from college threw up a video clip on his story at 5pm featuring a pool party with lots of people, champagne showers, and blaring music with the caption “work at 5:30am”. Now I’m in my panic room with what I think are secondhand scaries. Please send Ts & Ps my buddy’s way.

Oh, without a doubt it’s possible. I’ve deleted friends from Snapchat who go too hard because I just don’t feel like watching that trainwreck from afar. Great people, sure, but I don’t need to watch their Sunday Funday unravel weekend after weekend.

This weekend I proceeded to have a somewhat lengthy drunken dance-floor makeout sesh with a recently divorced, above-average looking 40 year-old woman, exchanged numbers afterwards and are now snapchat friends. We live in a town of only about 20,000 people, my mom was her kids’ teacher a few years ago, and doesn’t particularly like this woman. So I’d rather not have my mom find out about this and be “disappointed” in me, but I know it will at some point because word travels fast in our small town. Scaries are nearing an all-time high due to that coupled with trying to figure out how to tread on the texting/snaps with this woman.

Full disclosure: I am currently living with my parents, but just bought a house last week, and move-in day is a month from today. Please send all your T’s & P’s to get me through these next thirty days.

If you’re old enough to buy a house, you’re old enough to make out with whoever the hell you want to make out with. But in saying that, I need to hit you with some truth – you’re way too old to be making out on dance floors. Life isn’t a middle school dance.

Strong performance this weekend, everyone. Can’t wait to see you next week.

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Will

Will deFries (Twitter / Instagram) is a Senior Writer at Grandex and the world's foremost authority on Sunday Scaries (Twitter / Instagram). Email me at will@grandex.co.

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