I Stayed In All Weekend And Became A Productive Human Again

I Stayed In All Weekend And Became A Productive Human Again

Last week I wrote about the Friday Itch; describing the urge I get on Fridays to go out and see people and spend money I don’t have despite my best efforts to stay in. I showed my column to my friends, who joked that these are classic signs of alcoholism. This is coming from two guys who got so drunk they were sleeping like babies on the grass while Metallica shredded at Lollapalooza. Unfortunately, those assholes successfully planted a seed of doubt in my head, so to prove to them (and myself) that I have willpower, I stuck to my guns and stayed in all weekend. To up the ante, I even stayed 100% sober all weekend. Since I normally don’t drink during the week anyway, this was a run of 10 days with zero alcoholic beverages crossing my lips, and I would like to dedicate the following timeline to my haters/douchebag friends.


3:45 p.m. – As usual, this is right around when my group chat changes from the standard bullshit (sports talk and NSFW memes) to planning our Friday night. In preparation for this, I had purposefully put my phone face down on my desk at work, with no intention of looking at until I left. My phone is always on complete silent, so there is never any vibration or noise to alert me of texts. I miss about 100% of calls because of this, but fuck it, nothing in my life is that urgent anyway.

7:15 p.m. – I successfully navigated the group chat without committing to anything by using Dave’s tried and true methods for Sketching Out On Plans, and finished a half-assed leg day at the gym. My chicken legs make my dick look bigger anyway, and I don’t see the whole deal about being able to squat a Toyota Camry. There were definitely some enticing ideas for the night being thrown around, but honestly, I was so beat I had no problem flaking. I headed home and threw on my most effective FOMO defense system- joggers and the coziest sweatshirt I own. The two punch combo of being that comfortable and being too lazy to put on real clothes worked perfectly, and I was asleep well before my Warriors finished getting beat up by the fucking Trail Blazers.


10:00 a.m. – I awoke leisurely, like a scene in a movie where the happy couple wakes up cuddled in each other’s arms, except I was cuddling my pants that I took off in the middle of the night because I was too hot. I sleep like Pooh Bear with a t-shirt and no pants. It’s not a good look, but don’t knock it ‘til you try it.

11:00 a.m.-2:00 p.m. – With my newfound energy and lack of a headache, I was out of bed and being productive as if I was the one railing Adderall all night instead of my roommate. After reassuring said roommate that he did indeed smoke his entire pack of cigs in about three hours last night, I hit the grocery store, post office, and the gym. Apparently Saturdays is when all the hot girls go to the gym, because the talent on the elliptical machines was insane, although not my type. Any girl that is consistently hangover-free and at the gym on Saturday mornings would probably judge me for my lifestyle choices, like blacking out and ordering 100 chicken McNuggets like I did the other week.

2:30 p.m. – This was the hardest part of my whole weekend in. Saturday peaked at about 65 degrees, which is considered summer in Chicago and even had a California native like myself excited. On my run (walk) home from the gym, I saw dozens of people drinking on their patios while my internal voice told me to give up and drink a beer on a rooftop bar as god had intended. Although at one point I aggressively licked my lips while staring at a man’s beer like I was lost in the desert and his ice-cold Heineken was a mirage, I managed to stay strong throughout the rest of the day.

9:00 p.m. – At this point, I think my friends understood that I was serious about taking a weekend off, or maybe they had just gone too hard the night before (unlikely since no one can have fun without me), but there was not a lot of excitement to go out on Saturday night. I put on my FOMO Defense SystemTM just in case, made myself some peanut curry chicken, and resisted the urge to open up a bottle of C-Sauv.


10:00 a.m. – This was it. I was in the home stretch, and nothing could stop me. I woke up and sent out some good morning snaps to all my hungover friends mocking them for their poor choices last night because I am an asshole. I also made myself a tall stack of chocolate chip pancakes for lunch because I am a child.

2:00 p.m. – Apparently my friends weren’t going to take my obnoxious snaps lying down because I was barraged with an onslaught of pictures and videos of possibly the most out of control brunch I had ever seen. They had a pitcher of tequila sunrise (total psychopath move), videos of the waitresses taking shots with them, and just an absolute spread. I’m talking about Bennies on Bennies on Bennies. On a normal Sunday, this display would have horrified me, and I would take solace in my hangover and go back to sleeping away the day. After two whole days of saying no to fun, however, I was at a breaking point. My savior came in the form of Sarah, a cute girl I had met through tinder a few weeks back. Right as I was thinking about going to brunch and having “one drink,” she texted me “I’m finishing up a boozy brunch and I want to nap with you. Can I come over?” My prayers had been answered. Sex beats brunch nine times out of ten, and I knew what/who I was going to do for the rest of the day.

I beat the odds and successfully stayed in and didn’t drink the entire weekend. Do I feel like I missed out? A little, but it was nothing that wouldn’t happen again. For the first time in a long time, I fell asleep on Sunday night with no Scaries or insomnia, and I was actually productive at work on Monday. Hell, I’ll probably get a raise by the end of the week, which I’ll need since I’m flying to my old college town on Friday and plan on being intoxicated from the second I land until I regret all of my decisions Sunday night. I may have taken a weekend off, but I sure haven’t learned anything from it.

Image via Shutterstock

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Nick Arcadia

The opposite of a life coach. Email me if you want some bad advice:

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