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Remember in The Fast and the Furious when Vin Diesel is romanticizing illegal drag racing and he says that he lives his life a quarter mile at a time? I’ve come to realize that as of late I’m basically Vin Diesel except I’m not bald, jacked, or racing souped up vehicles with NoS for money. I’m not living my life a quarter mile at a time, but I’m most definitely living it one weekend at a time.
I woke up on Saturday morning with a hangover that would have killed lesser men. I had a throbbing headache and, upon looking at my text messages from the evening before, a really strong desire to find somewhere to have a post-bar after party. This never materialized for reasons I won’t tell you about here, but suffice it to say I got a little too drunk and the post-4:00 a.m. party that I was trying so desperately to put together just didn’t happen.
Now I know that you don’t want to hear about me having a hangover. It’s equivalent to someone telling you about their horror story on a cross-country flight (that literally everyone has experienced if they’ve flown before) or some stranger at a party giving you the low-down on how they manage to shave five whole minutes off of their commute to work in the morning. Nobody cares.
But I got up that Saturday morning, ate four Advil with a cup of coffee and got dressed. Plans for the day? Hitting up a spot in Lincoln Park where, for just forty dollars, one is able to drink bottomless mimosas, beer, and bloody marys. It’s a spot that gets you drunk, and my only plan for that day was to drink my hangover away because I guess I just wanted to pretend that I was 23 years old for a day.
Since it was close to 90 degrees outside and I felt like listening to some music, I made the mile and a half trek to this bar from my apartment on foot. It was on this walk that my mind really started to wander. I was still slightly nauseous from the night before, but the contents of my thoughts made me sicker to my stomach than any drink that I had drunk the night prior.
“Why am I still living for the weekends?”
“How come I can’t seem to have fun on a Friday or Saturday night without alcohol?”
“Is my existence on this planet really sad or is everyone else my age doing the exact same thing today?”
I mean let’s just be honest here. If I hadn’t been out drinking all day Saturday what would I have been doing? I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I would have left my apartment to grab a bite and then I would have crawled back in bed and watched Netflix all goddamn day.
So which one is less depressing? You tell me because I don’t know the answer. That post-bar party I was talking about earlier? I had four or five other people in my group that night who were trying to do the exact same thing, we just couldn’t find a place suitable enough to fit all of the people who wanted to come along.
What happens when the beer runs out and the sun is about come up? What happens then? It’s back to your pathetic apartment alone where you’ll spend the next several hours cursing yourself for the decisions you made three hours beforehand. I didn’t want to go home last Friday or Saturday night because I knew what was waiting for me. Nothing. An empty bed and the realization that Monday was upon all of us.
We tell ourselves every weekend that next weekend is going to be different but it never is. Partying is a fucking wasteland but we do it every Friday and Saturday (and maybe even Thursday) because it’s a momentary escape from the drudge that is everyday life. The inevitable march towards your thirties and weekends where the highlight becomes a Sunday morning trip to the farmer’s market for a ten dollar box of raspberries that you don’t really need. .
Respond
jduda@grandex.co
You ok dude?
It’s Monday. So no.
This was in some ways both exact what I needed and the last thing I needed to see today
Despite the wave of hungover existential dread I get every Sunday, I’m ready to do the same shit by Friday. We all live for this. I don’t think you need to get all Tyler Durden-y and look for some deeper meaning in life. We’re all still young, ride the wave while you can.
I love drinking as much as the next guy (former frat guy), but have recently come across a string of cancer in the family and decided to hang up the old cleats and not get trashed (as much) anymore. It’s weird at first, but kind of freeing. It’s kind of sweet waking up on Saturday feeling great, there’s a lot of cool shit to do out there, you just have to find it!
Agreed. The party ends man. Once you accept it you begin to realize how shallow it all was. I found a hobby, I started taking care of myself, I allowed myself to become a person, and eventually settled down into a good career, a nice house, a beautiful loving wife, and a stupid fluffy dog who thinks she’s people.
But where is the weekend in review?
I’ve found not staying out much past midnight regularly on the weekends is helpful. You can still have a great time, but also get up at a normal-ish time without feeling like a train hit you. Granted, I turn 30 in two months, so maybe this is part of the inevitable march to which you referred.
This is why you have to drink at places other than bars. Go camping with beer, go to a cabin with booze, go to a concert with a box of wine.
Once you mix it up the partying becomes less monotonous.
This, for sure
This just hit me so hard right now. First time I’ve ever related to you, Duda. This was good.
@RobertEarlKeen
Even he stopped drinking 🙁
Roger Creager is definitely still on the liquor though.
You’re an emotional rollercoaster, my man. I saw a guy on Instagram that said he turned 30,000$ into 30,000,000$ and he lives the life HE wants today, not tomorrow. So it can be done if he said it can
I’m ignoring this because you believe in putting the dollar sign on the wrong side, so anything you’ve ever said is now irrelevant.
Just doing it how the really rich guy on Instagram did it…
I mean, it sounds like you have to find a way to be comfortable with being alone.
I think that’s ultimately what propels the “party every night” mentality; you don’t want to miss out on any fun other people are having, and you feel like you can’t do anything but boring Netflix by yourself. And when it turns out that the people around you aren’t as interesting as you may have thought, you use alcohol to have something akin to “entertainment on easy mode.” I’ve been there, done that, and gotten the t-shirt. Then proceeded to pass out in it.
(also, you shouldn’t pound Advil or Tynenol and then keep drinking. That’s taking the usual, everyday, probably-will-regenerate liver damage from drinking and cranking it up to 11.)