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Happy hour, happy hour, pass out, golf, Postmates, pass out, lunch, golf, Oscars, pass out. Hell of a weekend. Did most of this occur while decked out in Outdoor Voices aka blogger scrubs aka the most comfortable clothing on earth? Yes, including the golf if you saw the Touching Base Instagram account this weekend.
Alright, let’s get into this week’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in quotes below.
My ex decided to drive down to visit me for the weekend. We had been talking and decided we were ready to make things work. We’re exs for geographical reasons and not from bad blood. One of nights he visited we planned to go to a Portugal the man concert. They’re great live and highly recommend.
But before going to the show we realized that we had a weird amount of time and weren’t hungry yet so we got drunk. We fucked first, I finished a bottle of champagne, and topped this off by chugging 4 trulys. At this point, we were running late and knew dinner wasn’t an option but stopping to get rum and cokes at a bar was completely acceptable. We chug these and get into line for the concert. We’re in and he orders us more drinks. I’ve been wasted for a while and broke the seal so I wandered off to go to the bathroom. I come back and I can’t find him. Probably a combination of being drunk and overwhelmed but I search for a half hour before finally spotting him. We decide it was dumb to separate so we go together to get more drinks.
It’s only now that I realize how trashed I am. I dropped an earring, bent over to pick it up, and fell on my face. I immediately tried to act as sober as possible to cover up my embarrassment. After, in some reasonable state we decide to go home and skip the bars. We pass out and the next morning is when the real scaries hit.
I wake up at 7am with intense spins but he convinces me that fucking will fix this. It doesn’t but it’s a welcome distraction. We both come and he decides this is the best time for us to talk. It comes out that he isn’t ready to try again and he manipulated his way into visiting me just to fuck. Cool, cool. I cry, he cries, he tells me a whole host of issues, and then quickly drives off. Fun start, so now I spend the rest of the day alternating between various hungover stages while cry-watching planet earth.
Yeah, I hate to break it to you but this was never going to work out and your ex was just trying to sweeten the deal of seeing Portugal. The Man. At least you have Planet Earth to fall back on. Just don’t watch the one with the goats on the mountainside because it’ll give you a panic attack even if you aren’t hungover.
Alright Will, I’ll bite. Technically this story happened last year and I didn’t think it was worth submitting but I’ll send anyway. This is more of a second hand scaries situation so names are changed to protect the guilty.
My husband and I keep our nights out pretty low-key nowadays, especially since nearly all of our friends are married or settled deep into their relationship cocoons. Except for Kevin. Kevin is my husband’s old work friend and a total wildcard. There is no such thing as a boring night with Kevin: guy is reckless, gives zero fucks and we always have a blast with him.
It was a gorgeous Saturday in June and Kevin asked if we would check out a new brewery that opened up next to our favorite winery. What started off as a classy beer tasting parlayed into some serious day drinking where the guys killed several rounds of IPAs and I polished off a bottle and a half of wine by myself. We should have called it an early evening but Kevin insisted we head downtown to a sketchy dive bar. The rest of the night is a blur…I don’t remember eating dinner but I do remember insisting that we do SoCo and lime shots (why??). The shots work their magic and pretty soon we are all ripping it on the dance floor, even my husband who dances like an inflatable flailing tubeman at a car dealership. Of course, a good time attracts the randoms and the creepiest guy in the place assumes that since I’m dancing with two guys, I will dance with him. I politely decline but he gets handsy so we decide it’s best to head out and leave the bar around midnight.
Kevin lives at a house nearby, which is owned by his coworker Jake. We walk back to the house and decide to spend the night (don’t drink and drive kids). Jake is a cool dude and graciously offers my husband and I the couch. Just as we are getting settled, there is a knock at the door and what do you know? Creepy bar dude is there. Not only did he follow us but claims that Kevin actually invited him to come hang out. Kevin, still giving no fucks, lets him in while I hide myself under the covers fearing this guy is going to grope me in my sleep. Kevin and creepy dude go out on the deck to light a fire in the firepit and drink more whiskey. Jake, however, is not happy and does not want this guy in the house either. He recognizes him from the local bars and tells us that this dude had stolen a significant amount of drugs from a Mexican cartel and was on the run at some point (what?). This seems way too specific to be made up but we are so tired that we don’t care and eventually go to sleep.
We are awoken at 7:00am to Jake screaming at Kevin. Like a drunken idiot, Kevin went inside and passed out but forgot to put out the fire before he went to bed. A log fell out of the firepit onto the deck, burned a massive hole through the wood and fell into the dried leaves below. There had been a small fire but thankfully not enough to spread to the house. The deck was fucked though. Jake tells Kevin “he should start looking for another place to live.” We take this as our cue to leave and awkwardly dismiss our hungover asses. No sign of our creepy drug cartel friend, I assume he bounced as soon as he smelled smoke.
Unfortunately, we had a two hour drive to a cousin’s baby shower that was being held outdoors at a park. Between the hangover shakes, the midday East Coast humidity, screaming children, and pretending to give a shit about baby stuff, I had extreme scaries for the rest of the day when I realized I very well could have died from smoke inhalation, been burned to a crisp in my sleep, or murdered by the Mexican drug cartel. The bright side was at least we still had somewhere to live and our deck didn’t have a hole burned through it. And yes, Kevin was moved out of that house within a week and a half.
And this, friends, is why you always trim your wicks on your scented candles. You can’t be too careful when it comes to falling asleep with something ablaze.
Also, people still do SoCo-lime shots? I think the last time I did one of those was August 2006. Fuck, I’m old.
This is going to be pretty short because the screen shots speak for themselves. I found a random credit card on the street after going to lunch Friday. Being the attentive person I am, I looked up the name on LinkedIn and found a guy who I thought it belonged to. Fast forward to Saturday, when I am doing a bottomless birthday brunch to celebrate turning 23 (and nobody liking me). Apparently, 2018 truly is the year of shooting your shot and sliding into LinkedIn DMs is the new Tinder. NGL, I thought the dude would just think I’m nuts and ignore my thirst, but instead wrote back Sunday afternoon. I’ll keep you updated if this meet-cute turns into anything real.
Yes, she included screenshots.
Now, I want to clarify. This isn’t a bad weekend by any means. Sure, it may be difficult to explain to your kids or parents how you actually met, but your parents will just be happy you met someone in the first place.
I’ll keep you updated as this story progresses.
I visited my alma mater this weekend and spent about as much as I do on gas in a week on food and alcohol in about 36 hours
(I have an hour+ commute one way and terrible gas mileage) and had scaries for the first time as an employee post-grad (previous submission I was not employed at the time having just graduated)
Yep, I’ve said it a million times and I’ll say it again: stop going back to your alma mater.
Additionally, if you’re going to have an hour-plus commute every day, please get a car with better gas mileage. It’ll save your wallet and the environment.
So, last night was my company’s annual gala – held at a fancy hotel, everyone gets super dressed up, it’s open bar, and there’s tons of gambling going on. I decided to take my roommate as my plus one because I didn’t want to take some dude and have to babysit him because he doesn’t know anyone when I’m just there for the free cheese plates and booze.
Anyways, I felt like it was a harmless move. Night starts out as normal – pregame before the gala with vodka sodas – my roomie is chugging the majority of the booze since I am still a little hungover from the night before (read: was up till 7 AM doing blow at Tiesto) We do cocktail hour and dinner blah blah it’s boring as hell. Dinner doubles as an awards ceremony so it’s super long and we just keep draining bottle after bottle of wine. After dinner, the ballroom turns into a legit casino with poker and craps and blackjack and instead of winning money you’re winning raffles for laptops and $250 total wine gift cards and vacations to Hawaii. I park my ass down at the blackjack table and start pounding Jack and Cokes.
I lose track of time and when I stand up 3 hours later I am hammered. I am browning in and out at this point so everything that happens from here is very choppy. I’ve lost my roomie but I eventually find her on the dance floor with one of the company VPs who is a 65 year old retired marine who is also baby birding her tequila shots. They are hammered and literally grinding on each other in the middle of the ballroom in front of everyone. I see my coworker who won a laptop from poker throw her computer into the huge water fountain in the reception area. I look away and now my roomie is canoodling with a 20 year old (an intern). I decide to hide in the bathroom with a cheese plate. I come back out to my roomie grabbing the guest of honor’s face and making him motorboat her in front of the CEO. Then, the roomie disappears outside with the old marine for 45 minutes. She calls me and all I hear is her screaming at him in the background.
I apparently leave with a friend at some point because my roomie has disappeared again. I woke up at 8 AM this morning and I am possibly still drunk. Who knows how my roommate got home. She told me she didn’t remember anything after the cocktail hour. I have had multiple texts from co-workers this morning telling me they saw my roommate having sex in a limo with the VP. One of these texts is from my actual boss (who is a lesbian) saying that my roommate motorboated her in front of her wife. I am terrified to go into work tomorrow – but apparently one of the accountants had a an orgy with 4 other coworkers so hopefully everyone will talk about that.
Uhhhhhhh, “being a little hungover from the night before” and “doing blow until 7 a.m. at Tiesto” are two completely different things. If I did something like that on a Friday night, I probably would’ve called in sick both Monday and Tuesday.
ALL OF THAT ASIDE, wow, what a ride that was. Your roommate is absolutely unhinged which I simultaneously respect and am completely afraid of. Can’t imagine the vibes in the office today. Probably even worse than last year’s Saved By The Brunch Monday in the office.
Went to memphis to celebrate a friends birthday. had a little too much fun on beale and woke up on the couch of a house that was about 20 times nicer than the hotel I was supposed to stay at. Got up found someone who was awake and found out I was at an air bnb for a bachelor party and I had gone there with one of the groomsman then passed out on the couch. I had my phone and purse but not id or credit card. So I went to brunch with the boys till 11 when I walked down beale in my clothes from the night looking for my cards. Cards weren’t at any of the open bars so u finally found my friends again after some teenagers laughed at me and shared my friends id so I could drink. Currently in bed trying not to throw up and am not drinking again till St Patricks.
Some friendly advice: not drinking until St. Patrick’s Day is a terrible idea. You’re going to feel like a million bucks and treat it like the start to a sprint rather than ease in. Next thing you know, you’re waking up on a friend’s couch with a pile of green vomit on your lap. Be warned.
Writing in for a friend that has given me extreme second-hand scaries that I cannot shake. Last night we were at a fundraiser where lots of breweries come and serve beer and there’s a 5 hr open bar. There’s also a live auction.
Now I didn’t come to the event with this person, so my other friend/date and I are watching the auction thinking “holy shit I can’t imagine spending that much money.” Live auction ends, we continue to drink and then we run into the friend (who we hadn’t seen in 2 hrs).
Now, let me preface this with 1) this guy is 10 years older that my date and I 2) and is my dates boss. So we find him drunk as hell, swaying around and stumbling into everything. He slurs “I bid $10k.” EXCUSE ME? Yes, this fool spent $10k to go see a live taping of ELLEN DEGENERES and stay in an LA hotel (airfare from DC not included).
He does not have $10k.
Second-hand scaries are real.
That’s tight. I always feel like half the winnings bids at live charity auctions like this don’t go through because people just have scotch-confidence and think they’re dripping with money. I once saw a guy bid $2,000 on a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle and I wanted to push him into the open bar.
I finally did it. I messed up bad enough that I need to submit a story and let others find comfort in my misery.
I’m supposed to be on my way to Las Vegas for a conference. I’m now sitting in a different airport than I was supposed to depart from. Why? When I told my buddy I had an early morning flight, he offered to let me crash at his place because he lives a lot closer to the airport. Fast forward to 4 am and we’re just getting back to his aprtment. I figure I’ll take a quick nap, grab my Uber and head off to the airport. Instead, I wake up as my flight is boarding with no hope of making it. I scramble to get myself rebooked. Before I know it, I’ve gone from a comfy aisle seat on a nonstop flight to a connecting flight flying middle the whole way.
Let’s hope it only gets better from here, but I doubt it.
P.s. I wouldn’t wish LaGuardia on my worst enemy.
I’d rather have my flight go down than sit the entire way hungover in a middle seat. No offense, but you’re a dumbass for not just re-booking again and figuring it out later. The people next you definitely texted their significant others about how bad you smelled. At least it was coming from Vegas where everyone was likely in dire straits.
So I am beginning this email to you on Saturday morning because I have a feeling we’re just getting started.
Long story short I’ve been having a rough time recently and not that this rough time necessarily started with my breakup in August, it definitely didn’t help. Saw my ex at a bar last weekend, we didn’t talk but two days later during my scaries anxiety I texted her congratulating on a recent promotion and hoping she was doing well. The next day she asks if I wanna grab drinks this week. I oblige. Why? Idk. Felt pretty apprehensive about it the entire week tbh.
We talk. It’s emotional. We made out. Yep. Made out with the ex last night. So not sure what’s going on with my life. On my way to my friends to get high and watch Star Wars, maybe this will help. To be continued…..
Ok so Saturday I played it chill and reflected on my actions. It’s Sunday. I’m out to brunch with my parents. Hoping things don’t get out of hand.
….Well it did and I’m drunk now. It’s 1pm on the west coast. Afraid I’ll get roped into an oscars party tonight. Is there anyway you can send help? Lock me in my house? Hide the beer? I’m hopeful my this will be the end of it, so I’m hitting send. But don’t be surprised if there’s another email from me in 10 hours.
Wait, did you just have a continuing draft for the duration of the weekend? I want to rip on you for this move, but I like your dedication to content.
So I was in Austin this past week for a conference, that was essentially sitting in 10 hours of meetings then drinking our faces off at various rooftop bars until 1 AM. Naturally, by the time we wrapped up at noon on Friday, I was ready to be teleported back to my bed in Philadelphia.
This was not the case.
I hop on my flight to Fort Lauderdale, expecting that despite the nor’easter slamming the Midatlantic, I’d still arrive home and be safe tucked in by midnight. I land in FLL to discover my second flight was indeed canceled, and I wouldn’t be able to get on a flight to PHL until Monday afternoon.
Out of sheer desperation, I hop on a flight to Dulles, and call my boyfriend begging him to drive down, get me, and stay the night at my friend’s apartment in Arlington. He reluctantly agrees to my worst plan ever, and I spend the next 2.5 hours trying to turn up Parks & Rec on my iPad loudly enough to drown out my coworker on the same flight who wouldn’t stop asking the flight attendant if she was sure we were safe to fly and if the pilot were any good. Three Deep Eddy airplane bottles later, I arrive at Dulles. My suitcase did not. Armed with only my wallet, a travel sized steamer, work laptop, and half a bag of Combos, I resolve to still make the most of the night and go out.
Upon seeing my boyfriend, I promptly lose it and spend the next three hours sobbing hysterically about the fact that I don’t even have any clean socks. He uses some IHG points to secure us a night at the scenic Holiday Inn Clarendon so I can shower and eat pizza naked in bed while continuing to cry nonsensically.
We drive the four hours back home on Saturday morning, stopping at Chick Fil A to eat approximately 8000 calories of chicken tenders, and again at PHL to pick up my suitcase. I then had to turn around and head back out to a gala to represent my company as a sponsor.
Get back home by 10 PM and drag my boyfriend back out to buy him a thank you dinner… Only to discover the first three restaurants we tried to go to were closed due to power outages.
Now I’m fighting off a particularly bad bout of Scaries while nursing a cumulative hangover from the past week and trying to psych myself up to tell my parents my boyfriend and I are moving in together. Thoughts, prayers, and strategy recommendations welcome.
Also, I have to fly again this Friday for a wedding.
No no no no no no no no no. Yes, the naked pizza in a hotel bed sounds tight, but no no no no no no no to everything else. Hope you continue the recklessness into the wedding this weekend have a story for us this following Monday, though. Maybe even go live on Instagram for it. .