Molly, Ski Trips, Sex Marathons, And Mardi Gras In New Orleans: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====

It’s 6:59 a.m. and I’m writing to you from a luxury bus en route to work. Due to a flight delay back home from a destination wedding in Mexico, I find myself with a three-and-a-half hour commute ahead of me. Luckily, I received a record number of submissions this weekend.

Let’s not waste any time and get right into it.

As always, we break some of the following stories down on Touching Base (subscribe on iTunes and SoundCloud). All the episodes can be found below. Proceed with caution.

Alright, let’s get into this week’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in quotes below.

Never thought I’d have to write in.

Went out of town to a concert with my boyfriend and three of his friends to see some jam band…not my cup of tea but thought I could score some swanky dinner and pre show drinks in the city so went along (plus I agreed to go while drunk). Ended up standing outside in -10 degree weather for 2 hours waiting to get into our Airbnb because the people before “demolished the place” which really makes me want to stay there and the cleaning crew keeps saying it’ll be five more minutes. Finally get in, only have an hour before we have to go to the show, and I’m forced to chug WARM André rather than the nice wine I brought because it didn’t have time to get cold in the fridge. So not a great start.

Meet up with some of my boyfriend’s other friends, one of which has a suitcase full of drugs. Only slightly buzzed off the few glasses of Andre, I decide to take some Molly. Still feeling sober and when someone offers me some acid, I think why not.

In case you’re wondering what happened to the swanky dinner and drinks I planned for …that turned into chicken tenders and french fries at the venue washed down with $19 beers.

Could have been the drugs or could have been the text from my boss (who pays me under the table) that said he changed his mind and wants to claim me on his taxes to get himself a tax break and I should expect to pay around $3k in taxes this year…..but my anxiety goes through the ROOF. I think it took at least 3 years off my life. Doesn’t help that the concert lasts 5 hours and they play maybe 5 songs and I’m surrounded by people who haven’t showered in a week or more.

Concert finally ends and we head back to our Airbnb. Go to the kitchen and we’re all wired, talking about the night, laughing about who did too much drugs and who drank too much. I hear a sound like someone is clearing their throat from what I thought was a closet door. Ignore it and we continue having an insanely inappropriate conversation before we hear someone yell “Can you guys shut the hell up?” Turns out it’s not a closet, it’s a THIN adjoining door to the second apartment where my Airbnb host LIVES. Pretty sure this might be the last Airbnb I’m allowed to stay in because I’m sure he wrote a scathing review on me.

Word on the street is that the emotional hangover from Molly is worse than any Sunday Scaries-driven hangover one can ever have. Toss in a large tax bill too? Well, now you’re in full-blown breakdown mode and I pity you. That’s what you get for going to an unnamed jam band’s concert when you don’t like them in the first place.

Went back to my alma mater (I know) for what is basically a drinking holiday. University sent out an email “challenging students to not drink at all,” not sure what they were thinking with that one. Got really fucking trashed after 14 hours of drinking, make it back to my friend’s apartment but the key isn’t working to open the door. So I threw my body against the door a few times until it busted open, wrecking the door frame in the process. Left the door wide open and passed out on the floor.

The next morning I had to explain to my friends that no, I was not thinking in my inebriated state, and yes, I will pay for whatever the damages are.

I take solace in the fact that I wasn’t the postgrad sitting next to me on the plane the next day, who decided to take full advantage of the shampoo effect and down six gin and tonics on a two hour flight. Lost his phone and his bag and was wheeled off the plane.

I want to make it clear that this submission was actually from a female reader, which makes her Terry Tate’ing the door even more impressive. I feel like I shouldn’t say it but will anyway for the new readers out there:

Stop. going. back. to. your. alma. mater.

I am writing with the worst case of Thursday Scaries ever (not even Sunday scaries, fucking Thursday scaries). So Wednesday night is kind of the night to go out in my town for reasons involving all of the bars doing crazy discounts on drinks mid week. So following a really fucking long day of work wherein I found out I will not pass the exam I need to take to get promoted at my job, I am at home getting ready to pregame with my roommates. This is where shit really gets started.

So I’m drinking some wine with my roommate Steve and this guy that I have been casually hooking up with, Mike. I am not over my ex, not by any means. Mike is aware of this yet still hangs out with me for some strange reason, probably cause of the sex. One of my other roommates, Mitch, gets home to pregame and brings Molly, LSD, and Adderall and asks us to take our pick. I chose the Molly (which I’ve never done), Steve and Mitch opt for LSD, and Mike steers clear of all this.

So we head out to our favorite bar. I have three drinks, trying to be conservative while the drugs kick in. My ex boyfriend show up because of course he does. He proceeds to make fun of me for being there with Mike who tends to hover over me quite excessively. Fed up with the whole situation, Steve and I leave to go to a concert next door cause we have another roommate who can get us in for free. I pointedly avoided inviting Mike and my ex.

Fast forward three hours and lots of me dancing quite embarrassingly. Steve and I decide to call it. We uber home and I notice a text from my ex asking me to call him, being out of my mind on Molly I decide call him about 14 times until he answers. He immediately asks if he can come over and I say yes until I discover Mike is in my fucking bed. Dude ubered to my house and got in my bed with out me there. I immediately tell my ex he can’t come and he starts giving me all of kinds of shit and interrogating me about having sex with this other guy and then calling him, when in fact that dude went to my house with out my permission.

I immediately start crying my eyes out and begging my ex to come pick me up and start saying what an asshole Mike is. It was pathetic. As he’s pulling into the driveway, Mike is standing there and lets me know he overheard everything and that I’m making a huge mistake going anywhere with my ex. I tell him to fuck off and walk out the door. After spending the night with my ex, I woke up only to remember that it’s his birthday. Since he has very few close friends (read: he’s a really fucking closed off person and didn’t even tell anyone that is was his birthday) I feel super obligated spend the whole day hanging out with him and celebrating his increasing age and escalating immaturity related to his quarter life crisis even though my brain cells are struggling massively to restore my dopamine and serotonin levels.

Send help and better judgment.

1. Why is everyone doing Molly this week? Like I don’t think we’ve gotten one Molly submission in the past, so to get two in one week is just wild.

2. Thanks for the science behind this drug. Dopamine and seratonin and stuff.

Hi Will, ever have those moments that epically change your life for the worse? I had one and this moment made me feel like a complete alcoholic. I recently went on a solo escape to Sweden for fun. I was going to read, exercise, hike, be healthy, explore, and all those other good things. I did all of that but more as a reaction to my first night in Stockholm.

Stockholm doesn’t have a crazy nightlife scene. It’s fun but it isn’t like other more crazy places. So, to get over traveling alone, I joined my hostel for a pub crawl. When I arrived it was about 30 guys and me. As soon as you enter a new pub they give you a celebratory shot. I should specify now that I don’t do shots. I always have a reactive night when I take shots but of course when you don’t want to feel awkward you take all the shots. This was my first mistake. My second was letting a new person buy me multiple drinks at each bar. So over the course of three hours I had had between 8-10 drinks. I’m not in college anymore and I’m a petite female so I can’t handle that (mostly because of shots). Eventually we make it to the fourth bar and the bouncer won’t let me in. The guys I’m with are saying I should try again but even my soon to be blackout drunk self knows better than that and I tell them that I’m good and disappear into the city alone.

In my mind this is what I have pieced together after going through my photo history, snapchats, and uber log. It’s embarrassing. I woke up the next morning in my hostel bed. I’m only wearing my underwear because turns out I threw up all over myself and the pillow. But in my blackout phase I was smart and threw that to the other end of the bunk bed. My head was pounding in a way I didn’t think was possible and I physically could not leave bed. So I’m lying in bed and checking my phone. The first text I see is that my international phone roaming charges had exceeded $200. This text led me to three others where friends were asking me if I was okay. I had no idea what they were talking about so I did some more digging and found some interesting photos and videos I had taken and uploaded on my snapchat story. The videos are of me crying and saying “I’m lost and don’t know how im going to get home or who is going to pick me up”. It’s sad and embarrassing so I obviously had to follow it up with a video of me laughing and screaming how drunk I am. I delete these videos quickly before more people can view it. First I have to save it though to remind myself of what a mess I can make. Next, still trying to piece together my night and find selfies I took in front of some body of water. Stockholm is an archipelago so that doesn’t exactly help. I then look over my emails and see multiple uber receipts. This is probably the worst part of it all. I ordered 6 ubers over the course of 2 hours. However, I only took one of them. I ordered 5 ubers and succinctly canceled them within a minute of ordering. So it took me 2 hours to figure out how to order an uber and remember the name of my hostel. So I guess I get into my uber and they drop me off. I somehow get into my hostel despite needing two separate codes to enter (that’s a miracle I figured it out). I then ate the remainder of a bahn mi sandwich (found later in my bed) and threw up all over myself and passed out.

I spent the rest of the next day feeling the intense shame of an awful and over the top night out. I didn’t leave the bunk bed until 3pm. I missed an entire day I should have spent exploring because of my hangover. The worst of all I was a blackout drunk American girl alone in a foreign city. Sounds like a recipe for disaster–although I guess in some ways the disaster was mildly averted since I wasn’t taken hostage like in a Liam Neeson film.

I’ve been wondering this question for a while now but have yet to write a column about it: is it completely psychotic to go on an international vacation alone? Like, I’m kind of into the idea until I read these stories where you’re throwing up on yourself in a hostel, but still. The international data charges alone will probably stop me from doing it, though. There’s no way I figure out how to do that correctly/cheaply.

A little late but I’m barely processing this weekend now.

For the record I’m usually a very tame and mild human being. I’m in law school and training to be a barre instructor so my weekends never get too wild and every time I read this column I feel like I’m not doing my 20s the right way. Until this weekend.

It all started on Friday. One of my teachers had special office hours for an upcoming assignment that’s due and she walks into the office with two bottles of wine for three people and says “I hope you didn’t drive here today”. I learned a lot about her personal life (ever hear a teacher talk about her giant dildo because same) and we end up showing each other pictures of the guys we’ve dated and then after I end up getting home buzzed as shit, clean my house naked to Cher and pass out.

Saturday she has these office hours again and of course she whips out the wine. I’m the last one there so I end up drinking more and let me tell you it is hard to keep up with her. Homegirl can hang. I end up calling the guy who Id been talking to for over 11 months who’s pretty much ghosted me and told him via voicemail that I’m in love with him and being in love with him is the karmic retribution for dumping my first boyfriend at Disneyland. Safe to say I’m still ghosted.

I get home and I check my social media. Early that day I had posted a wannabe fitness instahoe gym mirror pic in booty shorts and a sports bra and I notice one of my hot one night stands from college liked my pic. We’d been in contact on and off for the past 3.5 years since we hooked up and the wine told me I should message him. Within 3 messages exchanged, homeboy tells me he’s hopping on a train from LA to San Diego to come visit me that night. Since I was in a ghosted, heartbroken rut, I figure some dick delivered to my city is exactly what i need (side note: when we hooked up 3.5 years ago we managed to have sex 11 times in one day so I knew he wasn’t going to disappoint). I stuck in a nuva ring, cleaned my apartment, put on some red lingerie and prepared for a weekend of nonstop sex. While I’m driving to the train station to pick him up at midnight, it dawns on me I’m about to have a stranger I’ve only ever seen once and spent one night with 3 years ago in my house. Better life choices have been made but ya girl needed to get laid.

First night is great. Tons of sex, wine and pasta delivery at 4am. We wake up late and have more sex and take a nice Sunday stroll enjoying fish tacos, going to the farmers market and holding hands and generally being into each other. More sex and eventually I get too sore so we take a break to smoke and go to sushi dinner. Dinner is wonderful and we each get a bottle of sake and then we go grocery shopping buzzed. It was all perfect. Too perfect. While walking back home, I decide this perfect night should end at a tranny martini bar. My tolerance is non existent so I get trashed fairly quickly. I say something about enjoying getting to know him and he thinks I’m asking for a relationship and says he “doesn’t wanna be responsible for my feelings” which is the same line ghosting homeboy loved to pull on me. I’m instantly triggered and belligerently drunk so I take out all my pent up anger, hurt and frustration from ghost guy on this poor dude.

We’re yelling and crying at a tranny martini bar and we go home and continue to fight and cry til apparently 1:30am. Oh and apparently at some point during this fight I say that I want to move cities to be with him which is completely not the case considering he’s a practical stranger still. I have no recollection past 11 but all my clothes woke up in the kitchen and I apparently threw my laptop on the wood floor. Why this guy stayed is beyond me but the next morning (at 5:45am since I had work at 6:20am) safe to say he was a little freaked out. I explain the whole situation about the guy who ghosted me and how I took out my anger on him wrongly and all is well. I show up to work late with sex hair and my weekend sex friend in tow while he awaited his uber to go back to the train station and I could barely function my entire shift. Halfway through my shift one of the other barre instructors noticed I have a bunch of tiny hickeys on my neck and a clavicle bruise which I failed to notice and cover.

Weekend boy messages me later and asks when I put the nuvaring in. I told him two hours before he came over. Apparently my google search result of it being “effective immediately” was fake news. No condoms, no pulling out, ineffective birth control and I’m in my fertility window so I rush to rite aid after class and get plan B. Homeboy is freaking out and having a panic attack over the situation so I spend two hours on the phone with him trying to reassure him all will be fine.

He’s coming back in two weeks to (hopefully) celebrate my period with more sushi, sex and back rubs. Wish us luck.

Well, I’m just going to say it. That was a WILD ride. While I hope you’re not pregnant, I do think you just scared the life out of some readers when it comes to birth control.

There’s a “if I had a dime for every time I wound up crying in a tranny martini bar” joke to be made here, but maybe it’s just too easy. Would appreciate an update when you have one.

I was touched by your annoyance with the lack of submissions from the previous week. The victim of this story is not me but, since I witnessed this person’s shitshow of a night, I figured I’d shoot my shot here. This story does takes place in the past but beggars can’t be choosers.

I went skiing with my family this past March in Park City over spring break (I was in grad school at the time) and stayed in a house with my family and two other families. My brother had a group of his fraternity brothers, also on break, staying in Park City as well. This particular spring break included St. Patrick’s Day better known as America’s beloved binge-drinking holiday.

My brother invited his brothers to our house to pregame before going out that night. Mind you we had been drinking most of the evening already and everyone was already feeling a little rowdy.

At the bar I notice that one of the guys in our group is plastered. He’s cut off by the bartender. Security is starting to take notice and threatening to kick him out if he doesn’t calm down.

Like the good “mom of the group” I am (which never happens) I get several waters from the bartender and convince the kid it’s straight vodka. He throws back all the waters as I’m trying to talk to him to keep him from getting kicked out.

This kid starts KISSING me in the middle of the bar in front of everyone. While he was quite attractive I am not trying to be swept off my feet by a frat boy in a dingy bar in PC. I manage to politely push him off as he yells that he needs to throw up. I get him outside and he starts vomiting outside the back patio of the bar. This goes on for several minutes and I decide it’s time to get him out of the bar.

I proceed to walk (well more like drag) this kid about two miles uphill back to my house in below freezing temperatures. Once inside I try to give him more water, which he refused, and he runs outside to throw up even more.

He tries to kiss me AGAIN post vomit which I managed to stop before he got near me. I get him in a bed in the bunkroom I was sleeping in, put water next to his bed, and get into my own bed.

He jumps out of bed minutes later and runs to my parents’ room (mind you they’re fast asleep) turns on the light and starts vomiting into their toilet. I run in and have to calmly explain what is happening to my terrified half awake parents.

I get this kid back to bed and pass out. I previously forgot to mention that this kid is living in PC for the semester working at one of the ski resorts. I’m questioning how drunk he will be when he wakes up. His alarm goes off at 5AM and he spends the next few minutes looking for his phone (definitely still drunk) and running around trying to find his stuff. I manage to help him find his things and send him out the door. Not sure if he actually made it to work that day.

Needless to say I don’t recommend get blacked out seven hours before you need to be up for work.

Love a good blackout ski trip. Maybe not one where I puke repeatedly and try to make out on the dance floor with the girl who’s trying to sober me up, but still.

Plan was to check out this new duck-pin bowling/game parlor that opened in Atlanta recently and have a few drinks. Things are going great until we decide to take some tequila and whiskey shots against our better (sober) judgment. Ended up throwing up in an Uber, as did another guy (does it make us any better people that we both mostly threw up on ourselves rather than all over the cars? ).

Pretty sure I was still drunk at my optometrist appointment this morning. Now staring at a vicious hangover, and I need to find a way to get about 10 hours of GMAT studying in this weekend. Hangover bowl of pho is gonna need to work some magic.

Pho is low key the best hangover food out there. Just wanted to make that known.

Couple weeks delayed on this because I am still recovering from the humiliation.

So a few weeks back I attended a destination wedding in Mexico. The last night there I get absolutely obliterated and wake up in the morning feeling like death. Barely make it through the cab ride to the airport without tossing my cookies. Get to the airport had to wait in line 2.5 hours to check my bags and barely end up making it on my flight.

Finally make it to my flight assuming I’ll get a water and everything will be ok. Wrong. Such bad turbulence there’s no inflight service so I make it to Atlanta and stuff is finally starting to look up got a large water and curly fries (really missed American food). Make it onto my flight back to New York doing pretty ok…that is until the plane starts to make its landing…I immediately start feeling ill again so I start digging through the seat pocket for a puke bag. No such luck, the wheel hit the ground and I projectile vomited all over myself, I’m talking all down my clothes even on my travel pillows. And to make matters worse a guy I have newly been seeing was picking me up from the airport. Can’t imagine that’s the reunion he was anticipating. Three weeks later and I still have the scaries.

I’ll be honest, I was feeling rough during the hour-long car ride we took to the airport yesterday after our Mexican destination wedding. But, the delay at the airport gave us time to enjoy a couple beers, recap the weekend, and decompress a bit. Sure, now I’m still on a bus headed to work three hours late but at least my gag reflex didn’t kick in mid-flight.

This is a story of severe second hand scaries and is about my husband so I hope he doesn’t read this because I think this is one he would really like to forget.

Saturday afternoon stared off at a baby shower at the home of a friend who owns a liquor store and has a large selection of fancy whiskeys. Husband proceeded to drink way too much of said whiskey and is pretty lit at this point. We leave around 5 to go to dinner with his brother who is in town visiting us. We go back to house after because I have to work the next morning. So then the brothers decide to finish off every bottle of liquor we have in the house. When I get up Sunday around 6 am there are 8 or 9 empty liquor bottles plus beer cans on the counter and they are just going to bed.

I come home from work around noon. I hear the shower running but all of the lights are off. Turn on the bathroom light and husband is face down in the bottom of the running shower. His body is blocking the drain so it has now over flowed and flooded the entire bathroom. I scream because I think he is dead (he is pale and doesn’t look right) I shake the shit out of him and he sits up. I realize that he hasn’t drowned (the way he was lying on his arm kept his face just out of the water) but now I want to kill him. There are 3 inches of water in the bathroom floor, it went under the wall and into the living room, and is pouring through the ceiling into the basement. Keep in mind this is a house that we own so we can’t blame an overflowed toilet and have maintenance fix it. I lost my shit and he has the audacity to tell me that I am mean. He then passes out again and still hasn’t moved. Second hand scaries are something serious right now.

P.S I am sorry this is so long, I tried to make it as short as possible without leaving out any pertinent details.

Let me get this out of the way: glad he’s alive.

But let’s really get into this because this is crazy. People think that you get more tame as you get older. False. You just do the stupid shit in the comfort of your own home rather than in crowded bars playing Pitbull. I mean, these two wildmen turned a baby shower into a bender. You have to respect that even though he probably should’ve drown to death in his shower. Crazy.

I live in New Orleans. It’s Mardi Gras this weekend. My roomate and I decided it would be a good idea to invite 10 of our college friends down to party. Started off on Thursday nothing too crazy.

Friday night I decided to buy bottle service at a club that ran me $1200. Great time. Lot of money. Total cost of weekend about $2k.

My landlord took a swing by the apartment this morning and was absolutely apalled at the state of our apartment. Rightfully so it is an absolute trainwreck. She said we needed to move out. As in, EVICTED. Evicted from my apartment. I don’t know how serious she was I’ve tried calling here multiple times since and she’s not picking up.

I was booting all of last night and the better part of today.

The chemical plant I work at is going into turnaround tomorrow and I have to work 12 hour shifts for 25 days with no overtime pay. 3 jobs I am managing are kicking off tomorrow morning.

The combination of this hangover and the uncertainty of whether or not I will have to move might be the end.

Kill me.

Gotta feel like there need to be some more grounds for eviction here. I say you lawyer up. Sure, you may lose and spend a shitton and be even more in debt/screwed, but I’m feeling feisty this morning after a monstrous bulletproof coffee.

I went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras this weekend. It involved getting lost by myself in the pouring rain at 2am looking for Uber’s (i had $30 of cancellation fees + the $60 uber back to the Airbnb). It also involved running into friends from college and flashing with them to get beads; however, my brother was on the sidelines and saw the whole things. Oops.

The next day I ate edibles with my brother and I blacked out and apparently ate good seafood. A real shame I don’t remember because apparently the oysters were tight. I also knocked a pizza out of my brother’s hands and stepped on it. I apologize that this story is a jumbled mess but I just truly don’t remember what happened. My weekend is in bits and pieces. I do remember the 7 hour car ride home yesterday. I fought the spins the whole time. I got mooned by a lady on drugs, smoking a cigarette, in a Burger King. I’m now on my way to work and I have to deal with a harrassment investigation against a coworker. And I just ran over a turtle with my car. RIP turtle.

Damn, that was tolerable until you killed that turtle. Not sure how we’re going to recover from that.

I want to thank all of you. Last week, I had a call-to-action for all of you to be better (wait, worse?) and send in your stories. You answered. Couldn’t even include them all this week.

As always, send me your worst to will@grandex.co. This train don’t stop. .

43

Respond

Email this to a friend

Hey, I saw this on Post Grad Problems. Check it out.

Will

Will (Twitter / Instagram) is the host of The Sunday Scaries Podcast.

• @willdefries
• @willdefries
• defriewf
• will@grandex.co