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With a two-to-three day work week ahead of us, it’s easy to let it rip the weekend before. But that doesn’t mean Monday won’t still hurt.
Alright, let’s get into this weekend’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in blockquotes below.
Unfortunately, I lost a close friend this weekend.
The story starts about 2 weeks ago when I order a fresh Patagonia henley from manoutfitters.
Fast forward to this weekend where a large group of friends and some unknowns are pregaming at my buddy’s place and I am wearing the henley. Beer bonged a stupid amount of beers in less than an hour and was on the verge of blackout as we were leaving for the bars. I decided to buy a few car bomb drinks at the bar and entered into another dimension of blackout.
I came to as we were getting back to my friend’s place, so I went to lie down in my usual floor spot to pass out. This is where the story gets sad. Out of nowhere, a very ripe avocado hits me in the back and explodes everywhere. Not entirely sure why, but one of the unknown girls decided it was a good idea to do that. The poor, innocent Patagonia took some serious stain damage, and sadly, did not make it through the night. RIP buddy.
No one actually died, but my new favorite shirt did, so please send thoughts and prayers.
RIP, Henley. You’ll be forever missed. Luckily, we have an absolute blowout sale going on over at Man Outfitters where you can buy everything back for less than you bought it in the first place.
Seriously. Just go to Man Outfitters. We’re giving shit away. Patagonia, Filson, Grayers, Vineyard Vines, Sperry, Southern Marsh.
So I made the mother of all mistakes by deciding to pursue my masters at my alma mater. I know, I know. I know. But I got a job that’s paying for it, so I figured it wasn’t too bad of an idea.
My 2 best friends who graduated (and left) came up for Cortaca weekend. On Thursday night, we had our ten year anniversary of the bar we worked at during undergrad. So we went down, slugged multiple Moscow mules to do a tee shirt with a custom mug, and did endless shots of Jameson. Somehow magically made it into work at 8am on Friday in one piece and was coherent to hear my boss say “you’ve been fantastic all week, keep it going.” I guess it was a good thing that I stole half of the rolls from the buffet tray at the staff party.
Things started to get aggressive Friday night.
We did lines of some questionable substances and got down to the bars, where random, much older men proceeded to buy lemon drops for us girls. I lost count after 6.
So my one friend gets up and absolutely blows her chunks in the ladies room, and walks back out. Comes back to life. Then proceeds to make out with one of the men. Ferociously. I’m talking freshman status. So I chuck ice at her from behind the bar the whole time.
Let’s fast forward to Saturday.
We wake up, head to our old bar, and I start slinging back double Malibu bay breezes with Jameson after taking back some tall boys for breakfast.
Cortland football loses to Ithaca for the first time in 8 years. And that’s where my life began to crumble.
We did some bumps of again some questionable substances (shout-out to my old boss for renting porta potties). We proceed to go to another bar.
My friend and I ordered multiple pitchers of bud light and that’s where things got wild. I watched my best friend make out with three different people in ten minutes, one a former marine. I also asked a police dog if he was going to “catch those underage kids” and the dog snapped and snarled in my face. Sprinted into a pizza parlor to scream and order a slice of cold cheese, only to throw it up and go home and develop minor alcohol poisoning. My other best friend dragged home a guy to my apartment and was up till 4am scream-talking to this guy.
I’m out $300. Cortland lost to Ithaca for the first time in 8 years. I got a parking ticket this morning, and my boss sent me home early because I look ill. My roommate (who I am not friendly with) left me multiple passive aggressive texts the whole weekend. I have a ten page analysis due at midnight.
Never continue your masters at your Alma mater.
1. You are the most aggressive group of girls I’ve ever encountered in this series. Can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.
2. Malibu Bay Breezes and Jameson? You’re pretty much asking to die.
3. When I say “never go back to your alma mater,” I don’t mean for your masters. Good on you. You know, minus the whole “illegal substances” part.
I’m sitting in Heathrow after a 9 day holiday wondering what I’m doing with my life.
My sister lives in Scotland so my parents and I planned a trip over for my 27th birthday. I flew into London last Saturday to spend the weekend there before meeting them in Scotland. It was pretty last minute and my manager gave me the time off with the expectation I’d get some work done.
I was planning on meeting up with a few friends but that never happened. Instead I met a random man who gave me an extra ticket to a U2/Guetta concert in Trafalgar. Ended up bailing on him and meeting two Irish men. That turned into copious amounts of beer and espresso martinis ? followed by some illicit substances at one of their houses. I woke up the next morning not knowing where I was but ended up spending the whole day/next night with one of the guys (who’s name I figured out an hour before leaving) nearly missing my flight to Scotland.
Once I met up with my family we went to Glasgow for a concert on my birthday. I drank so much fireball and jack daniels that I didn’t even know my name. Ended up crying my eyes out (while still at the concert at 10pm) at how I’m single, alone and will be forever. Woke up the next morning to numerous incoherent messages to three guys I’ve dated recently which they would’ve received at around 3pm with the time change.
The next few days consisted of my sister and I polishing off four bottles of Veuve one night and an unnecessary amount of margaritas the next, all while spending time with our parents and her newborn during the day. On the final day we did a whisky tour with fourteen drams of whisky each then proceeded to polish of a bottle of Mortlach. For the second time this trip I barely made my flight.
So I’m waiting to board my flight home and have to go for a late birthday dinner with a guy I was seeing before the trip but didn’t even think of him once while away. Have to be at work by 630 tomorrow but since I did absolutely no work this week probably earlier. I still smell of scotch. My parents are (probably correctly) worried about my drinking and mental well-being. And to top it off per my handy period tracker and lack of control there’s a chance I’m also traveling home with an unwanted pregnancy courtesy of a lovely Irishman.
*goes to Scotland*
*drinks Fireball, Jack Daniels, and margaritas*
Honestly, almost have to respect your unabashed American-ness.
I type this lying on my couch, with four ice packs on various parts of my legs. This weekend my Men’s Sunday League had a state soccer tournament we qualified for and played in. Having already played 3 games, my legs feel like uncooked pasta, ready to snap at any time. I have blisters on both feet, and on top of that, some lunatic woman I work with brought in pink eye to the office last, which of course made it’s way to me. I’ve gotten nothing done this weekend, and I assume my legs will barely be working this week, which of course means everyone will try to speak to me about why I’m hobbling around, which will ruin my streak of non-interaction with the older co-workers.
1 more game to go. Pink eyes, pounding hearts, broken legs, can’t lose.
I always thought people were bullshitting me when they said your body falls apart as you get older, but I literally have things happening to muscles and joints that are downright unexplainable at this point.
Your coworker, though? He needs to be fired. Going in with a cough is bad, but going in with pink eye? Inexcusable. Should be blackballed in your industry.
I’ve always wondered if I would have a story bad enough for this column and now here I am. Luckily for me, this story is mostly about my friend and not me.
So I met up with some friends in Nashville this weekend. We took it easy Friday since we all had to drive a few hours after work to get there and were tired and wanted to to be ready to go on Saturday.
Saturday is where it goes downhill. Started with drinking a few beers while getting ready, but then the people we were staying with started pouring us shots of vodka and tequila. I’m feeling good when we finally leave to go eat dinner before hitting the bars around 9, but I was not too drunk at this point. I start drinking bourbon and waters at dinner, but still didn’t think I was that drunk. I should have known I needed to slow down after I tipped the waiter $10 on a $25 check and left my number, but that’s probably the least embarrassing thing that happened that night.
We finally make it to the bars on broadway around 11:30 and I wasted no time getting us drinks (vodka Red Bull’s at this point). Apparently we started talking to a group of guys from a bachelor party, but one of my friends and I promptly ditch those guys because I saw a guy I HAD to go talk to. So we’re separated from our other friend because she went to a different bar with this group of guys and this is where my memory is very blurry. Fast forward maybe 2 hours and next thing I know we’re kicked out of the bar because my friend was throwing up.
I get her out of the bar and sitting on the sidewalk outside while I’m frantically calling our other friend so we can go home because I’m in no shape to be out in public, let alone taking care of someone even more drunk than I am. Finally find my friend and get in a cab(yes a fucking cab, not Uber) and make it back to where we were staying without causing too much commotion, but not without friend throwing up AGAIN on the pumpkins on the front porch and face planting at least twice.
Woke up the next morning and found the friend on the bathroom floor. She has a huge scrape on her new $300 glasses lens, had a snap about coke on her story, and saw that she face timed a guy from her hometown who she has a slight crush on that is about 4 years younger than her.
I have second hand scaries. The only things making me feel better is that I wasn’t the drunkest/stupidest this weekend and I was out of town so it’s basically impossible that I ever see any of those people again. Unluckily for me, that cab ride was $175 and on my credit card. What are the chances I can claim my card was stolen and get out of paying it?
Having illicit substances on your Snapchat and a scratch on your expensive shades is so bougie. Second-hand Scaries are a real thing and almost as bad as having them yourself.
Also, a side note. I’m not saying The Kings of Small Podcasts are in Nashville talks, but I’m also not saying we’re not.
I write you from my the couch, where I will Be for the foreseeable future. I went back to my hometown for the thanksgiving weekend (and I’m taking a promotion to come back to Denver). After watching my Alma mater win their rivalry game my friends and I decided to rally and go downtown. We met up with a few girls i knew and began to hit it off with. We eventually diverge from the group and run into her recent ex at a bar. He buys me shots and most likely not knowing that I was hitting it off with his recent ex gf. The rest of the night goes without a hitch and we go back to her place for the night.
Fast forward to the morning. Im awoken by rustling in her room. Without opening my eyes all the way, I see said ex boyfriend walking into her bedroom. He stares at us for about 30 seconds (fortunately we were both fully clothed), then proceeds to climb into the bed and shake her awake. At this point I can no longer pretend to be asleep. I awaken to him yelling about me and her and I decided to chime in with a “hey Man I’m not sure what’s going on, but besides sleeping and chatting nothing happened last night.” They proceeded to leave the room and go upstairs to talk. I lay in her bed, debating trying to climb out a window or getting up to pee (which i really needed to do). After about 20 minutes of a spirited discussion she returns to explain he had climbed in through the window upstairs and they left the convo on very poor terms (as one would imagine).
So here I 8 hours removed from a scenario that seems as if it could only be concocted in a movie, drowning in literal scaries.
A man caught in a nightmare scenario.
No no no no no no no. You should’ve just pretended to be asleep until Thanksgiving week ended.
Hi. Long time reader, first time poster. So this past weekend I decided to go back to my alma mater for a football game (I know, I know). I have season tickets so I go back for every game and usually wind up waking up on Sunday to silence from a very angry soon to be wife.
So start off for a noon kick off by cracking my first beer in the parking lot at 7:30 am. Promptly switch to screw drivers by 8:05. Continue drinking until game time. Wind up sitting in my buddy’s luxury box during the game BY MYSELF. So here I am with a bunch of strangers and an open bar. What did I do? Of course I drank everything and sight like any functioning alcoholic would do. Continue to drink the entire game in the box only to run into the old ball coach who built the program to the level it is. Not sure if I made a good impression or not.
So this is where things get hazy. I ended up walking into another box. People were quiet and had computers up. Something didn’t register until I was being escorted out of what turns out to be the press area. I end up leaving the game and leaving my jacket in the process. Walk to a bar, proceed to get blacked out drunk and vomit all over the bar. Not outside the bar. Not in the bathroom. All. Over. The. Bar. I’ve been out of school now for longer than I was actually in college and I was in school for 5 years. Not sure what happened after that but I wake up at my house Sunday morning (I didn’t drive home. I had a DD) with a dozen text messages saying I made a complete asshole out of myself and that was the top 5 drunkest people have seen me. And that’s saying something. Needless to say I’m laying here on my couch with the shakes, empty stomach, and a loose stool. This is from only one day of drinking. I can’t imagine what would happen after 2 days. Send. Help.
I shouldn’t tell you this but it’s my obligation. I once took a Four Horseman shot at a bowling alley and threw up not all over the bar, but into my hands and onto my shirt while standing in front of the bar. I took off my shirt, put on my jacket over my bare chest, and went and sat in the car for an hour while my friends finished up. It was about 10 degrees outside. I feel your pain.
Being in the office hungover is an anxiety ridden cluster fuck, but what about those who work in odd places? Yeah, we agree its a son of a bitch when a cold desk and staff restroom snoozer isn’t available to soothe your throbbing workplace hang-xiety. I am one of those poor souls who do not have the relative comforts of the office. I am a commercial diver and underwater welder.
Recently, I decided to see if my 27 year old self could withstand the type of drinking my younger frat-bro self could take back in the undergrad years. I heightened this stupidity by accepting shots and shotgunning Angry Orchard cans (because its cider SZN) on a Monday night. I tried to be responsible by drinking earlier in the night starting around 7pm with the goal of being sufficiently faded and calling it a night no later than 11pm because I’m still a “functioning adult” whatever that means. That being said I was hammered by 5pm, did a podcast which I don’t remember, made deer-burgers which I don’t remember, and ended up at the bar/restaurant next door to the place my dive crew and I were staying which is where laws and morals were broken like a Tennessee fan’s spirit.
I entered the bar with my dive crew by spartan kicking the door open terrifying a family of four, and loudly announced that I was looking for some dirtlegs. I took a seat at the bar only to find out that they didn’t carry Avion. Now, what I SHOULD have done was calmly yet firmly voiced my displeasure and left, but what I did was turn into a complete monster by accepting jager and taking my frustrations out on the world. I started small by slowly and secretively placing as many straws as I could steal into the hood of a jacket being worn by a girl sitting at the bar with us. I graduated to stealing coasters, then plates, then every time a bartender poured a beer turned off the tap and turned their back I nonchalantly turned the tap back on just a little. Eventually I came to the realization that I had been served, but never had a tab officially started or even my card swiped. I told my companions “ITS BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I’VE SKIPPED OUT ON A BAR TAB!” Shot two birds to an employee, a wink to a lady, and stumped out with my dive crew. On our way out a middle aged guy with a comically raspy voice told in in a low grunt “Y’all have a good night” to which I mimicked in his exact tone of voice and exact polite farewell only for him to call me a “douchebag” and try to fight me. However, I pulled a plate I had stolen from the bar and stashed in my Patagonia jacket out, smashed it on the ground at his feet and retorted “DO WHAT YOUR DOING BUT DIFFERENT!” Naturally he decided to pack it in and go back inside with no punches being thrown.
On the walk/stumble back to the condo where we were staying I saw a car which I was convinced belonged to the raspy-voiced middle-aged guy based on no evidence whatsoever. In one swift but casual motion I ripped his licence plate off his car with my bare hands.
The next morning (and several projectile vomits later) my degenerate ass was first in the dive rotation and had cut and weld on a pipeline at 170 feet of water. Standard procedure for this requires me to spend time in a decompression chamber imminently after surfacing so I don’t die. To be honest, I wish I had. Attached below is a picture of my dive hat (which I nearly puked in during my dive) and the one, and only thing that helped my power through this horrible situation.
With all due respect, what is wrong with you?
Anyway, I can’t go to work hungover anymore. Reading and blogging all day doesn’t lend itself to it. Recently had this conversation with a dentist who explained how miserable it is for him to work hungover and I can’t even fathom it. Doing it as a commercial diver and under water welder, though? That’s psychotic.
So i (using lowercase because this IPhone glitch is ruining my life) had to work all day Saturday so i couldnt watch my Badgers make the Dockers man their bitch. After work, i agreed to drive my fiancé and child, yes had a pre-marriage baby… judge me, to meet my future mother in law 2 hours away so they could go down and start pre-Thanksgiving festivities without me. I have a huge 2 days of work this week including a potentially life changing meeting at 9 am Monday. So I got home last night at 10, took the dog for a walk and hit the hay semi early.
Woke up this morning with a staff trip to the Packer game planned. This is a big yearly event that most of our staff lives for. I’m quite young in relation, so i don’t exactly love the vibe going on. Left way too late for my preference so i of course had to pregame hard in the car on the 2 hour drive to make up for lost time. Made us pull over on the side of the road so i could pee 10 minutes away because i couldn’t hold it anymore. Got to the game, and switched to 10$ mixed drinks, and neglected food even against advice of coworkers. Got pissed by halftime because without the savior Aaron Rodgers, the Pack is straight trash. Decided to just get blasted instead. Lost my wallet, phone died which led to an argument with the fiancé via other coworkers phone about my general irresponsibility.
We stopped at Outback on the way home (shoutout to the blooming onion) decided to order double jacks with dinner, which i thought would be good to just order French fries. Told the waitress she would be great for my buddy because she had that “I’ll bang anyone face”. Had 3 or 4 cocktails then Car-bar’d th whole way home. Currently laying on the couch chugging water, because I’m in straight panic mode. Halfway between hammered and hungover freaking out because i should not be left alone for any amount of time. Fingers crossed i don’t ruin my career in 13 hours.
Words for the wise (not from the wise): if you have a life-changing meeting on Monday morning, lock yourself in a room and don’t let yourself out until said meeting. Boredom in your mid-to-late twenties just means you’re eventually going to get drunk.
So Friday night I went out with some PGPers and I got way to drunk. Other them me feeling like shit all weekend I didn’t think anything really bad happened, till five seconds ago. I thought I walked out at the end of the night and got a Uber but according to the app I didn’t take a Uber ride home. I then thought I must of taken a cab, but I don’t have a charge for a cab on any of my cards. So that the question who the fuck took me home Friday night? Scaries killing me right now, I’m too freaking old to not know how I got home.
Love when you guys hang out and make bad decisions. Please never stop. I bet an Uber driver felt bad for you and drove you home. Happened to me once. Not proud. .