Masters Sunday, on the surface, should be one of the least Scary Sundays of the year. In place of commercials, there are birds chirping. Rather than getting the dreaded “Are you still watching?” screen from Netflix, you’re soaking in a constant stream of the world’s top golfers playing the world’s most beautiful course. But just when you think you can escape, well, that’s when coverage ends and the four-day bender of Masters coverage fades to black. You’re sitting there not knowing what to do now that the event you’ve been waiting weeks (if not months) for just, well, ends.
The dumbest thing I did this weekend was probably also one of the smartest things I’ve done. I bought a damn puppy. In the long run, yes, she’ll make my Sundays much less of an uphill battle. Short term, though, I can say goodbye to full night’s rests, my bank account, and anything valuable to me that should be chewed away. Buyer’s remorse? Not even close. Especially when it comes to all the dumb shit various readers got into this weekend.
Let’s dive in.
Gonna be a REAL scary sunday, Will. 1000% thinking about applying for that bookkeeper job at Grandex just to move away from Chicago after last night. Talk me down.
While this isn’t exactly something awful he did, you know things are bad when you’re considering moving away from your city and livelihood solely based on the events of your weekend. May the Xanax be with you.
I went to the club to meet friends. Left for the bar after chugging half a vodka water. Hoe walked my ass up the big hill in heels and a tank top in 30 degree weather. Took tequila shots then went back to the club where I took more tequila shots out of a flask my friend snuck in. Then went to the bar to take more tequilla shots. The guy who bought me the shot took his then IMMIDIATELY puked. “I just take it straig… *pukes on floor and some girls*” Hung out with some frat guys I vaguely remember because one night their blacked out friend kept biting me (fucking weird but he was hot so I guess thats cool). Then we went to Harrys Chocolate Shop where I smashed a bag of popcorn and thats the last thing I remember. Woke up in a random house with a tent as a blanket. Went back to said house to look for phone and ask how I got there. My drunk ass stumbled in this random ass house and just passed out on the floor and these guys were unphased. “It happens all the time and we dont really care”. My phone turned up on a random frat porch which is two blocks away from my house in the wrong direction. Idk how I’m alive or why the fuck I was trying to frat but at least I wasn’t robbed. Side note: my keys and dignity were never fully recovered.
Reading that was not how I wanted to start my Monday, but here we are. The sad truth of it is, we’ve all been in equally as trainwreck-y situations as this so we can’t judge.
An ex who I’m still very close friends with came back to town this weekend for an engagement party. Slept with her last night and now I’m rethinking every decision I’ve made over the past 2 years.
“Dude, you should text her once a week for the next ten months and see if anything materializes.” – Duda, probably.
Beautiful Saturday here in St Louis, MO, had a nice afternoon grill session with a beer and thus followed my multiple more beers before my 5pm dinner with my fiancé’s family and her cousins and aunts and uncles for her grandmas bday party at 5pm. Felt good rolling into dinner, had some lasagna and bread and salad with two 32 oz beers. Twenty minutes after dinner started feeling like shit and proceeded to puke my brains out in the family bathroom at this restaurant. Thought I locked the door, but got walked in on by some random where the whole restaurant could see (albeit only if they were looking that way). Wasn’t my best moment, will bounce back this week.
If it makes you feel any better, Big T-Shirt Matt did this at Dave’s wedding. He wasn’t even drunk, just sick. But everyone saw him barfing in the bathroom so everyone assumed he was completely blitzed before the reception even started. Hard to bounce back, but it’s possible.
called my ex with a one night stand and had a conversation on speaker about my miller lite ass tat my ex told me to get.
Dude, you need to join the Witness Protection Program and not talk to your exes anymore.
Had a co-worker happy hour that dwindled down to 4 of us left and had us drinking till 11 PM Friday night.
I went to the bathroom at the second bar and found some coke, went back out to the other 3 co-workers that I’m not very close with and are all more senior than I, and asked if they really wanted to party. Offered to find some coke. No one was interested, I still went to the ATM and bought the coke from some dude in the bathroom.
Now I have to go to work tomorrow after sharing some weird, personal shit with these three and letting them know I’m down to party with hard drugs.
If I could rank “Worst Ideas To Do With Your Coworkers,” asking them if they want to do drugs that will hit you with a felony is definitely up there. Factor in that these are senior staff members and you’re just the loose cannon new guy and I can see how you’ve got full-blown Scaries. You will prevail though.
I got emotionally drunk, blacked out, cried to my best friend, her husband, and her mom about how my life is going no where, and started a fight with a boy I’ve been talking to. Is there any coming back from that?
There is, but you may want to sit the next few nights out when it comes to wine and/or vodka. At least you didn’t talk gibberish to that guy while on Ambien, though.
I fell backwards off of a barstool last night at age 27. I have bump on my head from it and I ordered chilaquiles in bed at 9am because I couldn’t wait until brunch. #livingmybestlife
As someone who refuses to let my girlfriend eat food in bed because beds aren’t made for food to be eaten in, live that #bestlife while you can.
And now, the worst of the week.
What follows is an account so wretched, so depraved, so antithetical to all that it means to be young that I almost couldn’t commit it to writing. But it must be done for the sake of readers if not for my own.
Where to begin…
Friday night set the tone for what has been one the most (least) memorable weekends in recent history. I fell asleep sometime around midnight after soft bedsheets, the crisp taste of a La Croix, and the soft tones of a British narrator on a documentary lulled me to sleep. I awoke up Saturday at about 8:00 feeling shaken by what I had done with myself and feeling a pressing need to prevent a repeat. This however was not meant to be. My parents drove into the city from the suburbs and took me out to lunch at a decent Tex-Mex restaurant that just opened up. I hoped for a chance to change courses on this awful weekend, but then we ordered our drinks. Everybody got water. Not even a glance at the margarita menu. Feeling the sense of dread settling over me, we drove to Crate and Barrel to pick up an attractive sideboard that I had purchased the previous week for a steeply discounted price. After a bit of sweating and swearing we managed to haul that magnificent piece of furniture up a flight of stairs and into my living room. It looked wonderful- dominating the room and giving off an aura of respectability and prosperity.
In the splendor of that moment, I knew that I was done. The highlight of my day had been buying a piece of furniture. I had no plans to go out, my head was clear and my belly full.I once again found myself sipping La Croix in a soft bed falling asleep to a melodic British voice. Today hasn’t been any better either with much of the day devoted to reading for a Master’s class I had decided was a good idea. What have I done Will? What have I become? This weekend I stared into the abyss… and the abyss stared back.
Jarring. That’s the only way to describe what we just read. Every person reaches their tipping point where their lives become a former shell of themselves. Some of us lose ourselves at Crate & Barrel, others at their jobs. It’s less about how or what happens and more about knowing that it has happened. You’re on step ahead of the game with your realization.
As always, email the worst things you did every weekend to email@example.com. 100% anonymous. 100% helping others. .
Image via YouTube