======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
I did a science experiment this weekend. Starting at 11:30 a.m. on Saturday morning, I set out to drink as many ciders as possible. I started with some tallboys of ‘The Vermonter’ by Shacksbury. I then went to another Shacksbury, ‘Deer Feed’ before finally caving and having a glass of wine toward the end of the night. I can confirm that this will give you a hangover.
Did I have some Sunday Scaries yesterday? Maybe a little, but that’s mainly because I couldn’t figure out why I went on that warpath in the first place. That being said, yesterday’s episode of The Sunday Scaries Podcast went hard — tips for relocating to a new city, a tribute to my dog, and some motivation to make you pick up and old hobby that you may have forgotten you loved. You can listen to the entire episode on Apple Podcasts or Spotify, or press play down below and keep reading the column.
And now for this week’s stories. If you have one of your own, send it along to [email protected] and it may get included. They always remain anonymous, so don’t worry about losing your job or anything.
Woke up Monday morning to a 2am text from my ex. It’s a Spotify link to “thank u, next” by Ariana Grande with “Hahahahaha” underneath it. Fuck.
This comes off to me as more playful than it does savage, no? Like, you don’t just send that maniacally if you don’t have even a little bit of good rapport with her. Honestly, you’re probably going to drunk-text her this weekend.
This is a secondhand scary that I think is worth sharing. My best friends and I reunited for the first time in a long time at our friend’s university for Halloweekend. I’m recently post grad, they’re both seniors. Was actually planning on a chill, mild experience. Not the case.
The night before the Halloween darty festivities began, we decide to go to parties. A long, aggressive pregame game of flip cup gets my one friend completely hammered off of Trulys (i.e. alcoholic La Croix and fucking putrid). We head out, and she tells a kid in a Michael Myers get-up to show her his penis and sings “my pussy tastes like Miller high life” to the tune of Lana Del Rey’s “Cola” in crowded streets. This is wild and also the first time we’ve met any of our friend’s social group. I can feel disaster brewing and suggest taking her back, but no one agrees. As the night progresses she gets super argumentative, but is soothed when someone suggests we go take shots at the bars. Terrible mistake.
En route to the bars she says a kid looks like Tyler the Creator, and that it’s made her “hot and bothered.” Yeah, idk. Licks this kid’s fully-clothed, hockey-jersey-wearing chest. Yikes.
At first he’s not really into it, but he’s also not not into it. He buys her shots while I mingle with the rest of the group. Shortly after, a tap on my shoulder and I’m told our Tyler the Creator doppelgänger wants out. I walk over to my friend, who is cross eyed and falling out of the barstool, and am told by the bartender “she’s gotta go.” I’m not sober, but being a good friend, I take all 115 lbs. of me and pull her by her slippery armpits out of a freshman bar.
A kid in our group notices and follows me out. He tries to carry her back to our friend’s place, but she fights it. She completely lost all limb mobility and genuinely cannot be corralled, so we lay her on the ground. Ubers won’t take her and we’re not close to our friend’s place. I hold her neck and forehead adjacent to the sidewalk so she doesn’t choke on vomit, cradling her head like an infant.
She screams “arrest me, I don’t care” as horse cops patrol the area a block away. Really not sure how she didn’t spend the night in the drunk tank.
God bless the three young men that helped get her home. We all had to wash our clothes due to being covered in her puke and mud. 45 minutes later a distant acquaintance eventually drives to our sidewalk location to pick us up after no more progress can be made. She was pulled into the car much like a duffel bag is pulled onto a luggage carousel.
We get her home and lay her in the tub with her clothes on and the shower running, because she’s covered in vomit and dirt. She can’t move but gets increasingly verbally aggressive and isn’t making sense, so we leave her in there so she can sleep it off. There’s now a party going on at our friend’s house.
2 hours later she walks out of the bathroom in front of God and everybody, ass out completely nude, minus the bra she (partially) left on. Evidently she gained motor function again, and things got bad. She’s in a category 5 psychotic state of blacked and is screaming incoherently. By the time I heard the chaos and got to her, she locked herself in the bathroom and told me to go fuck myself. After attempting to get her to clothe herself and come out of the bathroom I was done with it and went to sleep in my friend’s room, locking the door so her vomit-covered, muddied body couldn’t do anymore damage. 2 hours later she somehow manages to clothe herself and get the lock to open in a Hulk-like rage. Flicks on the lights, throwing all of her and my belongings across the room. She says she’s gonna drive home, and I inform her that she’s actually not.
She gets in my face, and I push her on the ground. I’m a small gal and have never fought anyone in my life, but I told her I was going to beat her ass and understandably lost my shit. She then calls her parents and cries on the phone as they both simmer her down for about 2 hours until 6:30am. She’s still drunk, but comes out of her blackout at about 9am and doesn’t remember anything, at all. I tell her every miserable detail. She apologizes repeatedly, cries from embarrassment, and exits the premises before Halloweekend even begins. Later realizes she lost $140 in her stupor and now has $20 to use on gas to drive 3 hours home and also somehow last her until her next paycheck. Her parents are unhappy, dozens of people have seen her goodies, and she has no money at all. Turns out she drank on antibiotics that make alcohol metabolize at the speed of a snail, and also popped an Addie before we went out. She has now sworn off drinking and let me smoke copious amounts of her pot as compensation for still being her friend. The moral of the story here: adhere to antibiotic warning labels, and don’t drink Trulys.
Holy hell, that was a wild ride. We’ve all seen this girl stumbling around on the streets and thank our lucky stars that we’re not the ones who have to deal with it. I would say, “Never go back to your alma mater,” but in this case, I guess it’s just, “Never go back to your friend’s alma mater?” I don’t know, I don’t think that’s the lesson here. “Don’t drink on antibiotics” is probably the more prudent advice.
Long time reader. Huge sober scaries as it is Monday night, about 920 PM. I am sitting in LGA waiting for a delayed flight back to Boston as I took the weekend in to see my family as well as have a job interview for a huge position at a major company.
Anyways, nailed the interview. The team said they loved me and are overtly impressed with my resume. But, here’s the kicker, and I knew something was wrong when the guy walked me to my car instead of the building lobby. Apparently they filled the position this morning before my interview and felt so bad that they gave me a sympathetic interview as a courtesy without any intentions of hiring me. Said in passing, maybe next year we’ll have an opening. Hating life right now.
Dude, WHAT? Honestly, don’t even work for them if they have an opening next year. That’s wildly bush league. Send that dude a Venmo request for your flight that’s just filled with middle-finger emojis.
Today marks the one year anniversary that my girlfriend took a shit in my trashcan. Let’s rewind here.
My girlfriend and I have been dating for nearly 1 month. She decides to go out that night (she is 19 at the time and I am 22, stating for the record) and gets absolutely annihilated at a different fraternities social event. I am studying for the second biggest exam of my college career and told her before the night happened that I could not hang out with her. I get a call at 1AM from her and she insists on coming over. I cave. We get to my apartment and the puking immediately starts on her end. I’m absolutely livid because I need to get up prior to the exam and study more. It’s about 4AM and I thought she was done puking and was commencing her sleep. All of a sudden, she gets up, takes the trashcan in the room and squats over it. I’m dazed simply because I was on the verge of sleeping. She’s over the trashcan for about 1 minute and hops back into my bed. I get the trashcan back over to the side she was sleeping on and, all of a sudden, I get a whiff of it. It’s not puke. She just took a shit in my trashcan blacked at 4AM. I’m pissed because I am waking up in 3 hours and dealing with feces in my trashcan.
I didn’t tell her what she did until 3 months after this incident (ultimate leverage on situations to this day) and I got a 94% on the exam.
And that, my friends, is how you start a Worst Weekend email. I’ll still never understand why people treat trashcans and closets like their own public restrooms when they’re blacked out, but alas, they do.
I think i am experiencing a double hangover from not only visiting my alma mater this weekend but last weekend I visited my little brother at school…
So I recently moved back across the country to be about an hour away from my old school, for a work project. So naturally I decided to go back for a gameday. Leave work drive directly to the school with only a change of clothes for gameday. Park my car and walk in to my friends apartment with a case of beer and two bottles of whisky. Kill one of the whiskey’s and hit the bars. Friday was a standard bars till close nothing too crazy. Saturday was when the real show began.
Woke up at 7 first beer cracked at 7:20 hit the first bar with free breakfast at 8:30. Our buddies dad was there so the first 3 beers were free before they went to the game. Bartender is coming around with jello shots that were 2 for $5 or $3 normally so naturally I do two. Hit a different bar and run into more friends to make future plans with then went back to the first bar because my friends GF showed up with a couple of smokes. So when the first touchdown is scored I’m buying a round of shots for me and the girls the shot fire and ice half fireball half rumplemintz fantastic shot deadly combination. the girls loved the shot and I love the attention so naturally me and the two single girls do another shot about 30 min later.
Near the end of the game i bought me and my friends a couple snorkels, this is where to shot gun a redbull vodka, do those to celebrate the win then its off to get Mexican food. More specifically fajitas we eat then go to our friends house where I take more pulls of vodka then I get the call to hit one of my favorite bars at 6:30 get there by 7. Drink a few pails or their jungle juice mix and drink some whiskey cokes. Hit the next bar for vegas bombs and long islands then I find out a girl I know is throwing another party with more jello shots. Leave the bars hit this house party for about 2 hours where i spend most of the time just playing with her dog and eating pizza rolls. Go back to the bars at 1:30 to link up with the people I’m staying with hit the bars till 2 pass out. The fact that I didn’t blackout is still perplexing me currently chugging water feeling like death.
Gross. I respect that you just ate pizza rolls and played with her dogs, but that essentially read like a laundry list of things NOT TO DRINK if you don’t want to be hungover the next day. My stomach started rumbling just reading it.
I’m a trash person, I’ve been on a 2 week bender since Halloween. It’s been nothing but whiskeys, 10% beers and the occasional 4loko. I decided to shoot my shot with a super hot girl and it did not end good and I’ve been drinking the pain away.
Friday i went to a basketball game with her because we were going to talk about things but one of my boys i haven’t seen in a while hit me up for drinks. This may be a trash move but i left her at the basketball game in the 2nd quarter and headed out. At the bar i had lots of old fashions and was faded. Me and my boys came back to my place we’re me smoked some kill and i was done.
On Saturday my roommates decided to go out to a Korean Bar and i was down. Various bottles of soju were consumed and by the end of the night i was making out with the Korean Bar tender in the bathroom.
I’m glad it’s a 3 day weekend because I’m very hungover off yougurt flavored soju. I ended up texting the girl i was at the basketball game with last night with the classic “hey wyd” at 2:30 am so i have to deal with that now. I think i need to follow the just one beer rule from now on and quit the bender.
Getting off the bender’s the hardest part. That, and maybe digesting “Yogurt Soju,” which I’m not even going to bother Googling because it sounds wretched.
Coming to you directly from Mandalay Bay where my girlfriend and I have been since Friday night. Flight delayed on the way out, finally got to Vegas at 10:30pm PST. Eat a quick dinner, uneventful night. Saturday we got brunch at Top Golf, walked to Cosmopolitan, continued drinking, walked to Bellagio, more drinks, more gambling. Walked up to the Wynn, blew more money. Cab home, freshen up, dinner at Paris so we can watch the fountains. Things are spiraling at this point and more money was lost.
Currently prepping for the wedding we’re attending tonight. Still unsure if it’s open bar, but we out here. We haven’t gone more than 10 minutes without a drink today. Things are going to get wild. Early flight home tomorrow. Will update.
A Sunday wedding in Vegas with no update to follow? This dude and his girlfriend are DEFINITELY missing the flight. Can’t wait for a 8 p.m. email tonight where he tells me they’re stuck in Vegas for the foreseeable future.
Normally being drunk in the DC suburbs this late on a Sunday evening would give me major scaries. Instead I’m relishing in the fact that I have tomorrow off (#ThankYouForYourService) and I’m absolutely stuffed from the amazing three course meal my friend made me tonight (Brie bites, pot roast, 3 sides, chocolate truffle dessert). Spending the night in a king sized bed with three dogs (picture attached, you have my permission to post – the world shouldn’t be deprived of these dogs). Oh, and she’s cooking me breakfast in the morning too. Someone please wife her up since I’m unfortunately straight.
Okay, this is just a flex. Next.
I need to remain anonymous here, so thanks in advance for that. Tonight I ran into a character from my worst weekend story, and I am finally able to put pen to paper about the sloppiest night of my life.
For background, I am in Dillon’s age bracket (actual age bracket) and single, have a redacted amount of kids, and live in Dallas, TX. Before I settled in to my current career, I was a musician. I met a number of other bands and musicians that I still keep up with. A few of them have really done well for themselves, and one in particular has been a very close friend for over a decade. When he comes to town for a show, I know it’s going to be a real lituation. In addition, because he is a Texas guy, a few local, younger artists (mainly girls) have kept in contact with me about getting on the list at his shows. So we typically hit a post concert bar with a squad that is heavy in the 22-26 yr. old female demographic looking to make a real connection with my semi-famous friend. I don’t hate it this once or twice a year, tbh.
Back in the summer, he came through town for a big show, and we caught a drink afterwards at Ten Bells in Oak Cliff. My buddy gets everything on the house, and I had recently received a huge promotion at work, something I had been working towards for years. He started ordering tequila shots, hot and naked (luke warm and not dressed) to celebrate for the entire bar (about 20 people at 1:30AM). I was feeling it. Middle aged, pounding drinks, beautiful people around. I. LET. LOOSE. We had pregamed at dinner, ordered beers at the show, and now I’m seven tequila shots in trying to figure out where I’m going to sleep. One of the mid-20s aspiring singer songwriter’s calls an Uber for me, a close friend that had accompanied me to the show (guy), her and her friend. I’m not one to be rude, so I get in the Uber. I remember following a shadowy person in front of me to the car and feeling someone guiding me from behind, so I felt safe. This will work out. It will be fine.
We get to her place and she starts mixing up gin and tonics. Guitars come out. I don’t smoke, never have, but here I am ripping heaters and playing embarrassingly bad covers of shit songs these young ladies have never heard of. Everyone is fuzzy. I don’t remember going to the couch, but I remember seeing one of the girls walk past, and very smoothly I whispered, “hey what are you doing not over here?” I am quite reserved when it comes to ladies when sober. Apparently, if I am close to blacking out, I am an absolute piece of shit. She did come over, and we had maybe the worst drunken, elbowy hook up of all time. I am fairly confident that sex didn’t happen bc of a number of reasons that we can all empathize with after 8-10 beers, 7 tequila shots, and several gin and tonics.
Here’s where it gets bad. In the morning, I wake up at NOON, on the couch – my buddy to my right (fully clothed), me in the middle (fully clothed), and the girl on my left (no bottoms of any kind). I wake my guy up, call and Uber, and GTFO of there. In the Uber, the driver tells us that this might be the worst smelling ride he has every given. I agree, and inspect my pants. Turns out they are covered in piss. I either pissed my pants, or worse, that drunk girl pissed all over me.
I haven’t talked about this with anyone except my ride along bro, and only once to piece together what we could make of the night. This was the low point of my drinking career, and it prompted me to take an entire month of alcohol to detox.
Thanks for sharing my misery and humiliation. My musician friend is coming back to town this winter and has requested I take the day after his show off…
Uh, I have bad news. You got peed on, dude. I want to give you some sort of sympathy and encouragement, but I’m not sure there’s much to be had.
I’m currently sitting in my apartment at 2 in the morning and the only thing keeping me from absolutely losing my mind is the overpoured glass of Jack in my hand.
It should be noted up front that I am not a postgrad. I am in my fourth year of architecture school, something that has aged me faster than my colleagues in other majors. As a result, I tend to relate heavily to the content posted on PGP. Presently I am studying in New York City as part of the “abroad” program (NYC is considered abroad because lots of international students that come to my school think that it is much closer to the city than it is, so the NYC abroad program allows them some time to experience it). Additionally, I am still able to drink like the college kid I am, so this is just a heads up that the real Sunday Scaries of this story aren’t primarily alcohol based. Now, let’s just jump right in.
This past Monday was my 22nd birthday. I celebrated it in the city with my friends the weekend prior and then allocated the following weekend as my chance to go let my friends on campus celebrate my existence. That was my official reasoning. My ulterior motive for going back was a girl that I’ve had a major thing for since last semester. It actually started up the very last day of last semester, when the flirting reached the threshold where we both realized there might be something here, but the timing was off since we were both about to go home for the summer so we put it on hold, kept flirting (as well as other things) over text and Snapchat and basically waited it out until we were physically in the same place.
I’ve visited campus a couple of times this semester, but for some reason this one got particularly rowdy. I took the bus in on Friday and arrived just in enough time to catch the end of the football game. Myself and two of my buddies went out to a bar and basically just started going after it. They were out ahead of me drink-wise, so I was half trying to catch up half just enjoying their drunken debauchery. One of them started doing this fantastic thing where he’d just pick up random drinks off of tables and chug them (T’s and P’s for him are appreciated; he’s probably not well today). Eventually we called it a night, the other two were too hammered to have a shot at bringing any girls home and I was obviously disinterested in anyone at the bar due to my aforementioned ulterior motive.
We went home, got wings (which explains why I’m now attacking my white jeans with a Tide stick), and crashed. Saturday night held a basketball game so we partook in some daytime drinking festivities and went out to that. The game was tight until early in the second half when we started to blow them out, so we left early and went back to the same bar from Friday. There was a date night for one of the sororities happening there, so my comerades began shooting shots while I played wingman. One of the guys I was with already had a decent body count in this sorority, and apparently word had gotten around so he wasn’t getting many optimistic returns.
Anyway midnight rolls around and I decide it’s time to go see my girl. She works at a bar one city over, so after about a 20 minute Uber in which I taught my driver how to survive a bear attack, I arrived to see if I could make some sparks fly. Obviously I couldn’t do too much while she was working so I kinda just hung around and mingled with the clientele, sipping Jack and shooting back the occasional shot of Patron. By the time the bar closed I was notably drunker than I wanted to be for this, especially since she wasn’t rocking anything more than just a buzz.
This was the start of the downturn of my evening.
It was around 2 so the bar closed up and I hung around because she had kindly offered to drive me home, which I took as a pretty good sign. We pretty much picked up right where we had left off on the car ride back, she’s easily one of the easiest people to talk to that I’ve ever met so the conversation was flowing fantastically. We got back to my place and just kept chatting while parked in my driveway, something we’d done many a time before. As I’m building up to making a move, she checks her Snapchat and goes “Whoops that’s a dick pic.”
I didn’t see it due to how fast she closed it but safe to say I was now off my rhythm. “Do you just get unsolicited dick pics at 3am on the reg?”
She laughed, “No it was from my boyfriend.”
I legitimately started welling up right there in the passenger seat. I was absolutely fucking floored. It felt like I’d taken a beanbag slug to the balls. I thought, nay, KNEW that this girl was into me. My roommate at one point had asked her “when are y’all just gonna date already?” to which she responded “oh, I’d date him in a heartbeat.” Now, not two months later, she’s got a boyfriend.
It took everything I had left in me to keep it together until I could inauspiciously excuse myself from the car. I went up to my room and just started ripping Jack from the bottle until I KO’d (which is not something I should make a habit of; I recognize this).
I woke up the next morning still incredibly shook, with a pounding headache, and an hour and a half late for my bus back to the city. Fortunately, Greyhound allows you to change your bus ticket to a later time for free as long as it’s the same day and the same trip, but riding a bus back across New York State for five hours with a pounding headache was still not exactly enjoyable. On top of that, I had my project partner for my architecture studio sending absolutely deranged passive aggressive texts because I left campus after I told her I would be back in the city.
So now, here I sit, continuing to drink my heartbreak into submission while trying to hydrate so that class tomorrow won’t be a nightmare. I’m trying to do some digging on the boyfriend situation without overstepping the line into obsessive. As of yet most of what I’ve unearthed is that he lives out of state, which just has me in a spot where I am asking myself if my move is to go full-court press and try to win her over, or take the L and pull the starters and just let go.
“Fuck this,” indeed. I know the commenters will hate that I provided a story from an under-grad, but deal with it. This guy had a worse weekend than you, and even you can admit that. .