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Craft beers, hungover, wedding, repeat. I hate saying that, but it seems like my weekends are following a special routine as of late. The “craft beers” part is insufferable, but having three super heavy beers is an easy way to pretend like you’re being responsible even though they get you as drunk as seven light beers.
Alright, let’s get into this week’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in quotes below.
Long time reader, first time writer.
Although I didn’t head to the alma mater this past weekend, I arguably made the next worst move: my hometown.
It was my childhood friends 21st and while I had intended on taking it easy this weekend, he asked me to come out for it a week in advance. Whatever, it’s his birthday.
Big mistake. I show up to the first bar and it was a damn high school reunion. Had to have been 40 people I graduated with there by coincidence, because they don’t even know the friend who’s there celebrating. Now this wasn’t a bad thing right away, I was happy to catch up with everyone, but I polished off a bottle of crown with my roommate prior to coming, so there was an impending blackout that arrived mere moments after saying hello to everyone. Due to this, I saw the birthday boy for the first 90 seconds of the night and never saw him again, despite his repeated texts.
This is where things get bad. Everyone I went to high school with and I moved to this dance/bar/club thing where it’s dark and the music’s loud. I’m drunk to the point that I’m knocking $9 drinks out of hands by mistake. Somehow I end up on the dance floor grinding on a total stranger. Trash move, I know, but it gets so much worse.
Grinding. In a bar. On a stranger. With dozens of people around I haven’t seen in years. I just absolutely go for it and put my hand down this poor girls pants. To my chagrin, she WELCOMES it. It’s game over from there, this happens several more times, including a couple trips up top to titty city with not even a single protest from her.
I’m ashamed. Didn’t even get laid.
TL;DR: got to second base with a total stranger in a bar while friends I haven’t seen in years watched.
I get second-hand anxiety from people who get caught doing the dreaded dance floor makeout, so just hearing your story about going hands deep in her pants in front of your graduating class makes me want to retire this column altogether.
Let’s just go through the basics here: you were definitely caught on Snapchat, you 100% were the topic of conversation in numerous high school friend groups, and you may want to get tested.
Well, it finally happened. I have a story worthy enough to make the cut.
My best friend’s wedding was this weekend and to say things got rowdy and weird, is a gross understatement. For starters, the wedding is a good patch of real estate away. Not quite far enough to fly, but far enough to hate everyone else that you share the road with by the time you arrive. Couple in a stop to pick up the tux at a very incompetent national chain of fine menswear, that should take 5 minutes stretching almost an hour and a half and, your boy is fresh out of patience already.
As best man, my room was designated as the unofficial “party room” in the generic downtown Marriott where everyone was staying. My degenerate friends proceed to treat it like we were expecting Snoop Dogg at any point, along with about another dozen randos. That’s fine and well since my better half and safety net of me doing dumb shit had to stay home.
The rehearsal goes off without a hitch. At the dinner, the MOH spills her red wine all over the suit I just had tailored a week before and my white shirt. I decide it’s time for me to start reallllly living up to the reputation I have made in 33 years on this planet. We leave the restaurant and shuttle back to the hotel bar, where I get belligerent and take the easy way out at 1 am, pass out and plan to start fresh.
At 3:42 am, I am awakened by a loud banging on the door, as I swing the door open, I see two local police officers with hotel security, and then hear a fire alarm before any of us can say a word. (thanks to other groomsmen treating the adjoining room as their personal hotbox.). Apparently the police needed to speak with me, but the alarm was a sign from god to run to a stairwell and blend in with the rest of those evacuating. After scaring the drunk out of me, I shower, have a nice breakfast and we’re off to the golf course by 7:30. While strapping my bag on for the day, some yahoo runs over my foot with his cart. I decide to partake in the favors left over from the night before, and next thing you know, all 5 of us are absolutely smashed, again, and it’s 10:30 am.
The wedding and reception go off without a hitch. We all indulge in the open bar, and good times are being had when the wedding director and venue manager called the groomsmen collectively, “deplorable people” under his breath. 3 of us including the bride and groom heard it and let our raising show. He was called way worse to his face and packed up every beer we could to have for after bars closed.
We decide it’s time to Uber on out and head back to the hotel bar. I am blistered along with literally everyone else. I have a buddy go up to grab us a round of beers, all being the same variety. As I power drink the first half, said drink carrier asks me to look in the bottom of the glass. I hold it up and look. Mother of god. There it was. Two gel tab hits of ol Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds herself. He apologizes as he’d brought it for him and another buddy to do. It’s midnight on Saturday night. I did not panic but simply asked how long it was supposed to last. 10-12 hours. Checkout is at 11 and I have a 350 mile drive home. The rest of the night is an absolute blur of being over served at a bar, locking myself out of my room, having security let me back in, to my passed out buddy who they call EMS for because he looked like a corpse (that’s just how he gets down), a $250 smoking charge, strange cougar women trying to dance with me, a 3 am pizza, Back to the Future, and the walls of room 731 closing in on me. Literally no sleep was had from 6 am Saturday, until 11 PM Sunday when I finally arrive home after having to walk around the city before driving home for around three hours. This may be the weekend that puts me into retirement and they raise my party jersey into the rafters once and for all.
What the hell, man. I like how you say you “finally have a worthy story” as if you don’t do this stuff all the time, and then you launch into a full essay that makes you sound like you went to a Wolf of Wall Street wedding. As the Peej Wedding Aficianado, I’m shocked and appaulled by how many foreign substances you and your crew indulged in. This sounded like a damn mess.
Hey King big time toucher here,
So I was home for the weekend and decided to go visit some of my friends at the college near me. We’re drinking a lot for our pregame then go out to a few parties. At the last one I hit it off with some girl and we go back to her dorm. We hook up and after I check my phone and it says 3:15. My phones on 2% and her and her roommate both have androids so I’m fucked. Drunk me thought it was a better idea to walk back to my friends apartment than to just sleep here until morning. I walk 25 minutes to my friends apartment just to find out it’s locked. My phone is dead and no one is waking up from my knocking. I get too tired trying to figure out a way in and sleep on their patio. Also I forgot to mention I live in Northern NY so not warm. Now I’m hungover and I think I have pneumonia or some shit. Saturday Scaries kick in now.
I’m not sure if you should be more embarrassed about hooking up with a girl in the dorms or more embarrassed about hooking up with a girl who’s friends only have Androids.
I’ve submitted before, but this is bad, my man. Went to AZ for the weekend to catch some spring training games and see some friends. First night there got blacked out, but pretty much kept it together. However, Friday I had a ticket to the White Sox/Dodgers game. I borrowed a friend’s car to drive out to the game. Well blacked out me decided not to charge my phone Thursday night, so it died while I was using Waze. So, I’m on I-10 in phoenix with no idea how to get to the game or back to my friend’s place. I stop at a gas station to buy a phone charger and ask the clerk for directions to the game. The guy has no clue, so I wing it. Miraculously, I find my way there. Well guess what? My ticket to the game was an e-ticket and my phone was still dead. The charger didn’t work apparently. So, now I’m really F’d. I turn around head back the way I came and again, I find my way back to my friend’s due to a gas station attendant’s less than stellar help. I wish I could say that was the end of this debacle, unfortunately I cannot. I’ll bring you part 2 aka shit show Saturday when I land in Chicago.
Pretty much every Sunday for the past three months, I’ve said to myself, “Dude, you need to invest in a portable charger.” It’s like $30 on Amazon and it saves so much trouble when you’re mid-bender. Was thinking about this one. Let me know in the comments if you have a better suggestion.
Long time, first time, you know the drill. Excuse any grammatical errors as the shakes are really inhibiting any fine motor skills at this point.
In short, what was supposed to be a quick overnight trip to a convention spiraled into a full on bender. I’ll throw in the crucial info that my company as a whole loves to get rowdy. As in, they used to rent out party suites in Vegas and got a noise complaint from Michael Jackson back in 2007. I got a taste of this during a trade show last year but chalked it up to it being a combination of Halloweekend (is that an acceptable term after graduation?) and Vegas. Obviously didn’t prepare to die again.
Day one was a snooze fest, evidenced by the convention offering free drink tokens as a bribe to get everyone to stay. After a few rounds, we hit our late night dinner reservation. President of the company is huge into wine, so it’s flowing faster than our servers could bring it, but I had PTSD flashbacks and went to bed once we got back to our hotel.
Day two I had a nice big breakfast and mimosas because we didn’t have to be at the convention until mid day. My boss, the company prez, and I had a late afternoon flight, so we dipped out early for some lunch before going home. We start with the standard two rounds when we all get texts saying our flight has been delayed. With every delay we hit a new bar for 2+ rounds at each, and we finally make it to our gate after three delays. Keep in mind for this next bit, I’m a five foot tall female.
Right before we boarded, I browned out hard and came to as the three of us were getting off the plane. No, not because we had landed, because I threw up all over myself and American Airlines had to bring in the hazmat team to clean up the plane. Oof. Never hated myself more.
Luckily the guys have been really good about covering my ass and nobody really cares, but I’m still anxious because dozens of people had to pay for my sins. Our 6:40am flight is about to take off, and I’m in my pajamas in 40 degree weather because they’re the last clean clothes I brought. My one good move was emailing HR in my inebriated state to inform her I wouldn’t be in on Monday. PGP coming in hot with the lifesaving advice there.
Here’s hoping when I inevitably puke again on this flight I’ll make it into the paper bag.
Flying hungover (especially from Vegas, I’d imagine despite never going there once in my life) is that 1. you’re afraid the plane is going to crash 2. you’re afraid you’re going to throw up all over yourself (see above) or 3. you’re frightened that everyone around you is going to see how much of a hungover piece of shit you are. At least you were only two out of three.
It all started on Thursday when my friends decide that it was a good idea to go to a bar that does 1$ Red Bull Vodka bomb shots. This led to a premature black out to occur at 7:30pm. Throughout the course of the night, I ultimately made the decision to drive 25 miles drunk to a club where we proceeded to order bottles and continue the drunk until 3am. When I sobered up I realize it’s now 4am and I have work down the street from the club at 7 am.
On Friday I wake up late and barely make it to work on time looking so rough to the point where my coworker asked if I was okay. I immediately puke into my garbage can under my desk and attempt at getting my life together. No such luck so I take a half day and drive home and sleep till 5. Upon waking up, my friends have made the decision for us to go back into the city that night to a bar where we know the owner. After lightly drinking and pregaming, we all pile into an Uber and drive there. While on the 25 minute drive, the Uber had to stop 3 times to let my friends puke on the side of the highway. We finally make it to the bar where we all proceed to blackout. Fast forward to the next morning, I wake up naked next to someone I don’t know who’s a solid 6 at best and I quietly sneak out of the house and Uber Home to sleep.
After sleeping all day my friends come to my apartment and drag me out of bed to the liquor store where we all blow a couple hundred dollars on liquor since it is officially one of our younger best friends 21st birthday. We drive to the hotel room in the city that she bought and start pregaming at 8:30. Eventually we make it to the club at 11 and the birthday girl gets kicked out within 30 minutes. Me being the responsible adult, I took her to an Uber with her older sister and got her back to the hotel. As we are walking down the hallway of the hotel, the birthday girl decides to projectile vomit everywhere and fall to the floor and take a quick nap. As we are waking her up the security guard for the hotel comes and starts interrogating us about it with a random guest of the hotel. We eventually get her up and get her to the room where she passes out on one of the beds. The older sister and I are just hanging out and talking when we decide we wanna take a 20 minute nap in the other bed. One thing led to another, and there I am having sex with one of my best friends sisters. We finish up as our friends just get back to the room and decide that we want our own beds so we leave.
On that drive home, we just talked about life and chilled. After dropping her off, I texted another girl to get food and then went and got Korean bbq at 3 in the morning. After Korean bbq, she wants to go back to my place and drink. Everything after that gets a little hazy and here we are Sunday morning typing this out with a terrible hangover and another girl asleep next to me wearing my button down shirt from the night before.
Any time a story starts with “1$ Red Bull Vodka bomb shots,” you know it’s going to be a trainwreck. Especially when the person doesn’t know that the dollar sign goes before the number. Top-one pet peeve of mine.
It is worth noting that the following transcription is coming to you live after 3 airport bar michelob ultras purchased for me by a white man named Randy Jackson who has a 16 year old daughter (I’m 22) and was definitely hitting on me. Thanks for the business card, Randy.
Good morning Will,
I will begin with the pleasantries here and say I hope you had a better weekend than the one in which I was privy to.
As most of the stories that make your column, I (admittedly stupidly) made the decision to visit with some college friends for the weekend. And no, we did not go back to our college town. Although, maybe we should’ve. Instead we traveled to an international city that is quite popular for 20 something’s. But also quite cold.
Half of our crew was spoken for, but we are fun girls who love to have a good time. And if getting drunk and making out with a random on the dance floor is the worst thing to happen in your relationship, I would call that quite the win in this day and age of the abundant rise of toxic relationships.
Needless to say, I am currently on my second flight attempting to make it back home to my home city as I start a brand new job tomorrow. Last night started pretty cool and chill with a few beers and the alcohol was flowing but never in excess throughout the night. Unfortunately, time was not of the essence last night. Time was passing like a math teacher passed out homework problems.
I planned on calling it a night around 1 or so as I had to wake up at 6 to begin my day Long travel itinerary. Somehow the night did not stop even close to one and my best friend and I ended up at a mansion around 2 for a “night cap” and a tour of some new club friends’ air BNB that had “tons of cool art.”
Somehow my best friend and I end up drinking until 6am with these new “friends.” It was fun and chill, nothing really to write home about. This is where things take a turn for the worst. We finally uber back to our air bnb where I promptly grab my bags and go back into the same uber and insist he deliver me to the airport. Not 100% sure why I thought acting like he was my personal chauffeur was appropriate but I do it anyways. It’s around 7am when my parents call me (never a good screen to see lighting up your phone on a Sunday morning). What they said next may very literally be the straw that broke the shambly post grad girl’s back. The news they ushered in was that my sisters boyfriend had asked for her hand in marriage. I think I am still drunk at this point where I let my family know directly “different strokes for different folks I guess. But listen, I’m gonna grab an iced coffee before my flight.”
I get a text a few moments later from my sisters boyfriend letting me know that he’s proposing “soon.” Soon? Wtf does that mean? I’m getting my life together soon- that’s extremely vague.
Well apparently soon was faster than trumps assistant when he requests a spray tan because by the end of my first connecting flight my sister had a few carats on her left hand.
I am honestly too far in My Sunday scaries to even process this, but I will just end on this note. I stayed out until 6am making out with a 24 year old on a BEAN BAG chair and not even 6 hours later, my sister gets proposed to. I also have a communications and journalism degree, yet still pursue guys who cannot properly distinguish the different between your and you’re. My parents must be so proud.
A loyal fan and perhaps AA’s newest enrollee
Going to a foreign country to catch up with some college friends? Aggressive. Doing so the weekend just before starting a new job? Downright psychotic. This doesn’t sound all that bad though. Fun weekend, you sound generally responsible outside of work, and it sounds like your sister is the one who should have Sunday Scaries.
Scaries at an all time high this week for the usual reasons. They peaked at the moment the girlfriend and I decided we would be moving in together but we also don’t have the same style and taste. It’s all downhill from here isn’t it?
Big life commitment — yes. The end of the world — no. Just think of it this way: shared rent, a cleaner place because you’re not living with other dudes, and your parents will most definitely tell all their friends how together your life is. Have fun answering questions on when you’re going to propose! It’s really fun!
On a week long ski vacation. My phone was submerged in water from a faulty water bottle in my backpack, won’t turn on even after my boyfriend blowed dried it. Went to AT&T to fix it, still on my parents account, had to call them from my boyfriend’s phone because I’m not a primary on the account. My mom thought I was dead (I am not a good skier), realized I wasn’t, is now super pissed and threatening to kick me off their plan. Couldn’t get a new phone because the hotline is down for my mom to add me so the AT&T people can help me. Phone is now in a bag of rice (Hail Mary). Have to wait until tomorrow to maybe get a new phone if my mom calms down or until I get home and use my boyfriend’s old iPhone. Or sign up for a new plan or join my boyfriends. All completely sober. Yay.
Wow. You could send me stories about hangovers, drugs, new jobs, whatever. But once you start talking about getting kicked off your parents’ cell phone plan, that’s where my blood pressure really begins to spike.
Huuuge fan of the column:
I started law school this past fall, so I haven’t had the time/ willpower for many scary nights or mornings this year. However, this morning gave me a unique brand of the scaries. All started when I went home this weekend to visit my dad for his birthday.
Long story short, he’d been having issues with out gas hot water heater, and had “found a guy who could fix it.” This man “fixed” the heater right before I got home Saturday. Come Saturday night, I go downstairs to my basement bedroom, smell something funny, pull the 4-year-old move of waking my dad up to deal with the scary thing. He and I both conclude it’s not gas because (A) it was not the right kind of odor and (B) our carbon monoxide detector was not triggered. I go to bed.
Wake up 7am Sunday morning to an alarm going off. Trudge upstairs to find my father trying to silence our security system, so we both can go back to sleep. Now this system is a huge thorn in mine and my father’s sides. My mother, god rest her soul, had it installed about a year before she passed away, and was the only one who ever bothered to learn how to use it. Neither my dad nor I even know the code to turn the damn thing on or off, so it’s mostly useless.
Three minutes later my crazy neighbor is banging on the door worried we’d asphyxiated because she’s our emergency contact when the security system goes off. Again, dad and I both do not have the slightest inclination how to use the damned thing, so the contact number ADT is supposed to call to make sure we are alive and don’t need 911 called is my late mother’s cell phone (an out of service number).
Fast forward three more minutes and my half-asleep ass is walking out into the driveway to inform the fire department and EMS that no, we do not require their services.
Turns out, this “guy who could fix the water heater” disregarded a critical part while fixing the thing that controls the pilot light. As a result, it was burning 10x as big as it should have and the house had slowly been filling with exhaust in the 20 hours since he “fixed” it. Another couple and I might actually have asphyxiated.
Take away from this eventful morning was (1) never trust “a guy” who can fix something, (2) figure out where the hell mother hid the code to the security system, and (3) if it smells funny, there is probably a real issue that needs to be addressed.
This issue sounds similar to when I forget to open my garage door before starting my car, only to start my car with it down. I then immediately think, “Do my roommates think I’m trying to kill myself right now?” as I frantically mash the garage door button so I don’t die.
Okay, maybe these situations aren’t that similar.
Long time reader of this site and I love everything y’all do here. While I’ve had weekends like this before in college, now that I’m living the big city postgrad dream these are becoming fewer and farther between. Below I submit to you my whirlwind weekend.
It started midweek playing hockey with a college buddy. He mentioned that himself and a few other guys were thinking driving down on Friday to visit my old roommate who is also his buddy from small town Ontario. We agreed we’d think about going and left it at that.
Friday afternoon, 3:00pm: He asks again and I say no, I’m staying in to study for the level 2 CFA exam
Friday 5:30: I have just gotten in the door an lie down, realize I’m bored and maybe should have gone.
Friday 5:31pm: I receive another text asking if I’m sure we don’t want to do this. I am not sure.
Friday 6:00pm: We are at a beer store buying a 28 for our night out in our college town
Friday 8:00pm: We arrive at our friends. The others have arrived earlier. We don’t have to keep up because we had been having casuals during the drive down.
Friday 10:30pm: At the bar with all eight of us. It becomes an average night. We end up at a cheaper local bar and are on the dance floor. We all disperse and come back to the apartment separately with the latest arriving around 5:00am from their trip to a girl’s house on the other side of the city. All in all, about what we expected from the night and we wake up Saturday and think let’s get breakfast and go back to our big city professional lives.
This however was not meant to be. There’s a hockey league called the CHL in Canada. Most cities of 60,000 to 500,000 have a team. The league is 16-21 year olds playing to eventually get drafted to the NHL. It’s a huge pipeline for professionals and all the great Canadian hockey players play in it prior to the NHL. This is all relevant because a contingent of the group is from a small town about 9 hours north of where we went to school. Their team is the best team in the league right now and is playing in another small town 2 hours south on Saturday night. Four of the guys already have a hotel and tickets. They are not impressed that we are going back home.
This is where our weekend turned bad. Sitting in the car about to leave for home we both look at each other and say “fuuuuck, I kind of want to go to (the small city)”. Instead of turning to get on the westbound, we turn right onto the eastbound as we dig this hole deeper. We pull up to the other car at the intersection and inform them that we’re coming too. The reaction is predictable. We buy tickets on the way down we arrive early. We decide to kill time by going to the casino and playing blackjack. Up a little, we’re thinking this was a good idea as we drive over to the hotel. Arriving at the hotel around 3:00pm, we walk into a party of Adderall and alcohol.
One of our friends was from this town so him and another friend went to say hi to his parents quickly and we were to meet up with them before the game at a bar closer to the arena for this minor league hockey game. We proceed to kill time by continuing to drink. Showered and having eaten we get in a cab to meet our other two friends again. We arrive to discover that our local friend along with his high school buddy have now done a significant amount of MDMA. He can barely speak as we walk into this hockey game.
At this point we have also discovered that we could bet on the game through an online site so there in now a significant amount of money riding on the outcome of these teenagers playing hockey in front of probably 5,000 people. We also discover quickly that we are the only away team fans in the crowd and that behind us is an entire section of children who played hockey on the ice at the first intermission. Our local friend (wearing his vintage jersey) figures out how to talk again and turns all of these children against another friend who was wearing the away team’s jersey. 30+ 10 year olds are now raining down boos at him while our friend is leading the charge. Meanwhile we are also getting beers and doing key bumps in the washroom of this minor league hockey game.
The away team scores to go up 3-2 and win us money. It also prompts another friend to turn around and start asking the kids what the score is now. In fairness, he also did catch a t-shirt earlier in the game and hand it to one of them… we’re not terrible people. After winning the game and the money we had bet on the game we decide to hit the casino for a roulette spin on our way back. At the casino, having lost the spin one guy decides he’s not leaving until he wins his money back. Down significantly more than we had won on the game, he finally decides to come back to the hotel where we are drinking and watching the men’s Olympic gold medal game.
Midway through the hockey game we go to a bar. A few of us end up at another bar where myself and one other are talking to a group of girls from what we thought was this city. They take us, along with our other friends to a dance club that wasn’t exactly our scene. Realizing the situation, we leave after one drink to go back to the first bar where we run into the rest of the crew. After last call, the two of us call the girls and suggest they come to the hotel. They tell us that we can come over to their place and give us an address.
Ubering over, we begin to notice that the scene is changing. The neighbourhood is getting slightly worse every intersection. We are officially in the slums. We arrive and go inside to find a normal scene of a bunch of girls around the living room talking. We join in, play some beer pong and there’s four of us left. The two girls who invited us, and us. We find out that they don’t actually live here, or in the city. Instead they live in a small town outside and sleep on their friends couch here when they want to go out. This leads to my friend and one of the girls hooking up in the only washroom in the house while I am hooking up on the couch in the living room.
After a short make out, the front door comes flying open to another guy and his girlfriend walking in. This prompts two of the girls who were downstairs to come back up and start playing trap music. On the couch with this girl, we are watching as a trap party breaks out in the living room while our friends are having sex in the washroom and we have nowhere to hide. While I didn’t exactly fit in, everyone was still cool enough and we were talking through the awkwardness. 10 minutes into this the guys decide they need to piss but can’t because of the situation. They go outside to pee and my friend now fully clothed comes out and we grab an Uber to the hotel.
This is now 4:30ish and he decides that we need to meet two of the other guys at the casino. Meanwhile the last two had ended up at a strip club. I opt for the hotel as I can feel the anxiety creeping in and know that the strip club guys have just gotten back as well. About an hour and a half later, the casino three come back and the two of them who were originally there launch into their story about going back to a Best Western with some girls they had met. Two of the guys then end up on back pages and uber across the city again to a motel for a hooker. Meanwhile, with all the Adderall and other stimulants coursing through my veins, I can barely sleep. Finally, I fall asleep and wake up around 11:00am just as everyone else is also waking up. After about five minutes of debriefing we all realize that we need to get the fuck out of here. We grab our bags, and run out of the hotel. A painful, anxiety filled 4 hour drive later we get back to safe harbour.
Currently in bed listening to Jazz and rain with a candle hoping that writing this will alleviate my anxiety before having to face my boss at work tomorrow. To make matters worse, he texted me halfway through this email saying he hoped I had a good weekend and to look forward to a huge week at work. I also failed to study this weekend.
What a whirlwind. I mean, I don’t normally include stories that are 1,000+ words but I respect this guy’s dedication to Canadian hockey. But seriously, doing MDMA before a hockey game sounds… pointless? Idk, idk.
Decided to spend some time Friday night with my old man. We got a bomb dinner and then headed to me local dive bar. Played some euchre, pool, and had a few drinks, it was a pretty chill sitch.
Woke up feeling good on Saturday. Decided to clean my floors and go to the gym during the day. I got peer pressured into braving the elements and head downtown to meet up with some friends to watch some college hoops. I live in Cincinnati, where it’s been raining since Tuesday. The river is at a flood stage, so navigating the temporarily closed streets looking for parking in the rain was pretty miserable. Finally got to the bar, where the shots and vodka sodas were going down like water. I had a DD that night, so really decided to kick it up a notch. Was able to be moderately responsible, and even made it out for under 3 figures on the evening.
I eventually got home sometime after 2am. Open the door to my basement only to be greeted by 3 inches of standing water. This is my worst nightmare. I spend about an hour trying to pump water out before deciding I have entirely too much vodka in my system to mess around with it.
Wake up Sunday morning with a splitting headache and the slow realization about what awaits me in the basement. I then proceed to pump just under 200 gallons of water out of my basement, all while fighting the urge to puke. After the standing water was gone, I start pulling wood paneling off of the walls, along with anything else ruined by the water.
Finally, after getting everything to a dumpster and setting up fans and dehumidifiers in the basement, I have a chance to relax the way one should on a Sunday. At this point, the sun is going down and my mind starts to wander to the huge project deadline I have at work this week. No amount of ibuprofen, ice water, F&R candles, or athleisure can do anything to settle tonight’s scaries.
Oh no. No no no no no no. I follow some Cincinnati people on Twitter and they were having issues getting home from the bars due to the flooding. This is worst case scenario. I mean, it’s not as bad as getting kicked off your parents’ cell plan, but pretty bad nonetheless.
Not proud to write this, hoping that doing so will almost help me put this weekend behind me is some weird closure type of way.
I’m no longer the age where blacking out on the weekends is how I prefer to spend my time. Call it being more responsible, maybe. But that doesn’t mean every now and then I don’t break my own rule by mistake.
Planning for a low key weekend, my only plans included meeting a friend for drinks on Friday after work, going to bed early, then enjoying the rest of my weekend. Friday night did not go as planned.
Met with my friend as planned and we immediately began sucking down IPA’s like it was our job. It should also be noted that I did act somewhat responsibly by actually making it to the gym after work Friday, which meant I was extra dehydrated at the beginning of this whole night. A couple hours pass and I’m already feeling pretty good when the group chat starts blowing up about what everyone’s plans are that night. With my new IPA infused energy for the night, I tell everyone to come meet me at the bar we were at. When my friends arrive, things are already getting pretty hazy. One of my last “clear” memories was one of the girls who showed up ordering me and her tequila shots. Que blackout city. The rest of this story has been collected by those around me that evening. Several more shots were had and good times were flowing until I apparently was deemed too drunk to be in this fine establishment, this was also about the time I got into a fight with my girlfriend (which I’m sure was totally reasonable and not embarrassing on it’s own). This also meant she was not willing to help me the rest of the night. I was removed from said bar, however my night was only just beginning. Once outside of the bar, I am sitting head in hands on the curb between two cars when luckily another friend who was meeting us at the bar happens to arrive and find me in this state. She kindly helps me into an Uber to get me home, about 5 min into the Uber ride the driver thinks I’m going to yak (he was right) and so he kicks us both out of the Uber. The girl taking care of me (she’s a saint) calls my GF for help, she wants no part of my drunken shenanigans but agrees to let me stay at her place despite her anger. We hail another cab, and after 2 min in that cab are kicked out, again on suspicion of me yakking (again they were right). At this point we don’t know where exactly we are in Chicago, but as luck would have it, my friends from the bar happen to stumble upon us. I am in the fetal position leaning against a fence, clinging to life. Two of my guy friends pile me into uber #3 and we successfully make it to my gf’s apartment where I slept fully clothed in her living room. Her roommates love me.
Upon waking up I was missing my apt keys, wallet (which has my work key card), and I notice I do not have my back pack I had brought to the bar which had my work laptop. This was peak scaries moment. Luckily a friend had the wherewithal to grab my backpack from the bar after my removal. The keys and wallet tho, gone.
All day Saturday was spent in bed contemplating the decisions made and if I would ever drink an IPA again. Sunday was still not 100%, spent mostly in bed. And now I’m writing this to you from my office desk procrastinating doing any type of work.
My biggest regret from the weekend? Honestly the damage I did to my friends Uber ratings. You can’t repair that.
Hangovers are temporary. Tarnished Uber ratings live forever. .