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I spent pretty much my entire Easter wearing Outdoor Voices joggers while watching #sports and Netflix. So what I’m saying is that it was no different than any other Sunday. Luckily for me, the stories flowed in like wine of nights past.
Alright, let’s get into this week’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in quotes below.
Love the series and I’m thrilled to finally be able to contribute (and even more thrilled because I’m writing this about my roommate).
To set the stage for you, this past weekend my two roommates both had their first post-grad birthday, one Friday, and one Saturday. Friday rolls around and I dropped by our local spirits store to grab each of us a 6 pack because I’m a great guy. Over the next few hours we casually drink, grab some dinner, and play Fortnite.
With not too much damage done, we Uber into the city around 10:30 and head to our first bar. Birthday boy decides to contribute to his own demise and immediately orders us a round of Red Bull Vodkas. This sparks a dangerous trend of buying rounds for everyone at a time, including tequila shots for my other roomie’s birthday at midnight.
The night devolves further and further until we eventually move to a much less reputable establishment in the wee morning hours. At some point – and I’m not exactly sure when – Friday birthday guy decides he’s had enough and is going to make the responsible decision of calling himself a ride home. We bid him goodnight and carry on being classless losers for a few hours.
Fast forward to the next morning – I walk into our living room and see him wrapped in a blanket on our couch with a Gatorade nearby. I (correctly) assume a horrible hangover and laugh it off to go make coffee, but oh how wrong I was.
He calls my name and when I look over, I am horrified. His face is covered in blood, scratches, and bruises. Apparently, he took a nice little tumble on the walk to his Lyft and broke his fall with his face. On the sidewalk.
Needless to say, the results weren’t pretty and he’s luck he didn’t break his nose or require serious medical attention. To make all this worse, he has to fly out on Tuesday to a very large client’s HQ for a presentation AND he’s quite sure he gave his Lyft driver $100 in cash.
Plus my other roommate just texted us that he’s more hungover today than he was yesterday. Really solid weekends of birthday over here. Thank God mine isn’t for 6 months.
Oh man, classic post-grad birthday. A little Fortnite pre-game followed by some RBVs that lead to your demise. The first rule of celebrating birthdays after the age of 22 is that you’re too old for shots. The second rule of celebrating birthdays after the age of 22 is realizing that you’re too old to be celebrating birthdays. My current birthday tradition (you know, as a fucking 31-year-old) is to eat a large piece of red meat and drink a bottle of wine that I normally wouldn’t spring for. Can’t say I hate it.
Recently turned the big 3-0 and assumed my days of binge drinking were over. I was wrong. Oh so very wrong.
Started the weekend with a chill night Friday. Stayed in with the wife, watch some hoops and called it an early night. Saturday, we were heading out to the new bourbon bar in town with some friends for a chill dinner and drinks. That chill dinner turned into me smashing 5 bourbons on the rocks, the last two being doubles. Then, in my inebriated state, i decide I should do a flight of the strongest bourbons they offer, the last one being 131.8 proof.
Already getting the death state from my lady, we decide to hit up the wine bar downtown. Order a double IPA (mixing booze at 30 is a guarantee next day FIRE booze shits), finish that off as I watch Michigan finish off FSU, guaranteeing a win in my office bracket pool. After the wine bar intermission, we head to the local watering hole where I start smashing Coronas and slam back a few jaeger bombs (once again, I JUST TURNED 30). Head back to the house with some people from the bar, immediately continue to drink and begin brown out phase. Remember projectile vomiting in my garage, swiftly ending the after party. Wake up in my martial bed, jeans still on, on top of the covers, wife no where to be found. Walk past that guest bedroom and see the wife slept there that night. First thing she says “You’ve got some cleaning to do.” Walk out to see the mess in the garage. Splatter distance was actually pretty impressive. Wife has your boy in the dog house all day and the scaries are REAL.
Moral of the story, 30 is not the few 20.
“You may be wondering how we found ourselves in this position.
Oh, wait, no you’re not. We found ourselves in this position because you’re a 30-year-old dude who thought it was a good idea to follow up a whiskey flight with a DOUBLE IPA. Just seeing the letters IPA gives me fever dreams of sitting on a toilet for an extended period of time.
Here’s a lesson: when you’re old (yes, 30 is old), you stick to one type of booze. I didn’t want to drink seven beers at dinner recently, but I knew that after three that switching to red wine would only make me feel like hell the next day. It’s all about consistency and steadiness.
It started on Friday night where I had invited a girl I have an interest in to a pregame to a concert in town. She politely accepted, and I was stoked. So I get done with work and head over around 8. She says her and her friends will be getting there around 830. So with 30 minutes to kill, I end up going through half a handle of jack and a few beers. By the time she gets there Im pretty wasted, but still with it. But fast forward five minutes, Id gone through another serving or two of jack and I lose all memory. Apparently I went ahead and finished the handle, collapse twice and break one of my friends clothing chests on one of the falls. Leaving the girl invited to reconsider her choices that night. My younger brother walks me back to a friends apartment, where en route I apparently tell one of my brothers friends how hot she was, immediately proceeded by me throwing up on and around her shoes. I spend the rest of the night passed out, intermittently throwing up and getting pictures taken of me on the couch. Miraculously, I somehow set my alarm for work the next morning. Also, I work for a moving company. So I uber to the jobsite, still drunk, with no company attire on whatsoever and proceed to interact with the customers we were moving that day. I had to wait on my crew in the driveway for twenty minutes, again, leaving the customers wondering what the hell was going on. Finally the truck shows up, and we proceed to unload an entire house worth of furniture, boxes and appliances. The next six hours were spent moving furniture, sneaking gulps of water directly out of the faucet and throwing up on all fours in the side yard, more or less in that order. Absolutely miserable. Don’t black out 12 hours before manual labor everyone. Didn’t feel human until 2 or 3 that afternoon.
P.S. somehow it eventually did work out with the girl I invited to the pre game. There is hope.
In what world is getting blackout the night before you have to move, well, the move? Like there are so many different routes you can take in life and this is what you decided on? I get it — you’re young and you want to let it rip. But the thought of moving someone else’s dresser while there’s Jack Daniels on my breath sounds like a circle of hell.
So a couple weeks back one of my good friends had his bachelor party. Let me start by saying I was pretty sick before and was considering not going since I was taking a ton of medicine. However I talked myself into it and decided to tough it out for my boy. So I get to his place around 3 and was immediately handed a drink, and we started ripping shots, hitting the vape pen, and just having a good time overall. Then it’s 4 and the limo comes to take us to the casino downtown.
The limo had a mini bar and my boy was blasting today was a good day by Ice cube, and I thought it indeed was turning out to be a good day. Boy was I wrong. We get to the casino and proceed to pound drinks and next thing I know the bachelor who is like 6’6 300 pounds is walking around the casino in a pikachu outfit that is about two sizes to small while the guys were yelling “pikachu I choose you” (he was a huge Pokémon fan as a kid so we decided to mess with him by making him wear it.) So as typical bachelor party stories go, as the night goes on a couple of the guys won some money at the casino and we decide to go to the strip club etc.
Fast forward it’s 3 a.m., and I just feel like death. The medicine and alcohol really wasn’t mixing well, and I decided I needed to get the fuck home. So I call an Uber with one of the other guys, and Frederico comes to pick me up. Frederico seems like a nice honest man, but he had no idea for what was about to be in store for him. Long story short right before I was about to get home (like a block away) I just vomited everywhere in the car including on myself. I mean I messed this dude’s car up and I felt bad about it. So when he dropped me off at home I drunkenly thought it would be a good idea to give him all the money in my wallet which was only like $6 (went to the strip club earlier.)
Needless to say I woke up the next morning with the worse hangover of my life, vomit on my sheets, and to make matters worse me and my girl got into a fight because I went to the strip club. I then check my bank account later that day to see a $250 charge from uber. Yep it cost $250 to travel about 15 miles. Needless to say I experienced the scaries that day in full affect…
Okay, I’m going to act like the Pikachu part didn’t happen. Because outside of that, this is classic bachelor party. Absolutely love it. Just too washed to still hang when the big dogs are blowing their winnings at the strip club — doesn’t get any better than that. Shouts to Frederico.
Friday around 6pm I was sitting at the house for the first Friday in months I didn’t have plans. I decide to give my liver and dignity a rest. 30 mins later my buddy texts me and asks if I want to grab some tacos; i agree. We go to my favorite place downtown and it’s packed so somehow we choose the most expensive steakhouse as the alternative.
$250 of waygu steaks later (I’m normally a somewhat frugal dude) we decide to grab a few drinks out but nothing crazy because we’re both trying to cut back on drinking. 4 drinks and copious amounts of tequila later he tells me he’s got 2 hotties on the way to meet us. 1 immediately takes interest in me and we are all over each other all night.
My buddy leaves and she invites me back to her place 20 miles away. It’s 2:30 Ubers are surging it’s $150 to her place, I decide it’s worth it. We jump in the Uber and the dude was obviously smoking weed right before he picked us up, there’s still smoke flying around. She mentions it smells like weed. Uber driver turns around and asks if she wants to smoke. She agrees and the Uber driver lights up a blunt with the windows up. I watch as she and Uber Driver finish the whole thing. She immediately leans over and starts admistering fellacio on me along with using my own hand as a puppet on herself. She gets off and starts moaning LOUD. Uber driver asks for 5 stars after we get to her place at 3 am. We get to the door and she realized she forgot her keys and both our phones are dead now. It’s 20 degrees out and after 15 minutes I decide drastic measures are called for and attempt to break her door down. Sprain my ankle and sit for another 20. 3:30 am I see a car driving down the highway a hundred yards away. I limp to the freeway and thumb the car down I explain to this lady the situation and she offers to take us to the nearest hotel. 1 minute in this lady scrapes her car on the guard rail turns to me and says “sorry I’m hammered” 10 minutes later I hear old girl puke all over random lady’s car.
We get to a shitty motel I apologise to the lady and help old girl get out. Front Desk guy informs me they are totally sold out then sold me his phone charger for $50 after refusing to get my phone charged enough to turn on. I charge my phone in the lobby and order a $136 Uber back to my place 65 miles away. After writing this out I realize how absolutely insane this sounds to be true.
Oh my. Ohhhhhh my. When I first read that you had plans to stay in for the night, I knew you were about to have a Massive Night™ because that’s just how thins work. But never in my wildest dreams did I think your night would end with your Uber driver blowing tree while you received a mouth job in the back. Just wild.
Now for a follow-up from last week’s STD scare.
Follow up on the STD scaries from last weekend. Good news, not an STD, slightly not great news, they have no idea what its from. Humble brag, 7/8 on bets this weekend with baseball and copped the Sunday Scaries long sleeve. Avoiding the scaries is a rare occurance.
This is huge for the squad. If we can get one person to avoid getting an STD, we’ve won.
Hey there Will! Love the content and normally reading past Sunday scaries can really help me out on a hungover Sunday, but not so much today.
This weekend one of my friends got married. I’m fairly new to this group of friends, so I didn’t actually get invited, but i went as a “date.” The wedding was super nice, and so much fun, it was at a roof top bar in my city, with a great view of the sky lines. The reception on the other had was around the pool deck. The vodka waters were a flowing soon into the reception. A great time was had by all, until a bridesmaid ended up in the pool. And there was a small fire when the sparklers from the bride and grooms exit, wasn’t properly put out. Don’t worry, the pool was right there, we threw the bucket that was on fire in the pool. Everyone decided to keep the party going so we took it to a bar close bye. Nothing crazy really happened. Other than the bride ordering us all to buy her shots. Yolo.
Ubered home, ate a frozen pizza and was asleep by 1:30. Woke up to get ready for church when I proceeded to vom all in the shower. Which i just remembered I have to clean. Somehow, I managed to make it to Sunday school and church (praises for bojangles.) Everything was going fine until it was communion. I literally had to get up and run out of church so i could vom the holy sacrament I just had. To make matters worse we always sit at the front of the church so everyone watched me run out. Pretty sure Jesus isn’t super happy with me right now. But hey, I at least made it to church, probably still intoxicated. Who gets married on Easter weekend?
Easter weekend wedding? Sounds like your “friends” who didn’t invite you to the wedding were cheaping out on the venue. I don’t hate the move, but still brutal considering the next day is a major holiday. At least you have a clean shower now? I don’t know, grasping at straws here.
Moved to a new apartment and start on a new job site tomorrow. I haven’t unpacked a single thing. It’s going to be a doozy.
Nah, nope, no way. Get this out of my face. Somehow this is worse than every drunk story we’ve encountered thus far.
Just when you think you’re too old and wise for the Sunday Scaries, it hits you like a freight train. Easter Sunday with my 8 month pregnant wife is going great. Low key, just hanging around our relatively brand new house preparing for our Monday back to work after both having the last week off. I flush one of my toilets upstairs like normal, and come down to my kitchen that is located directly under the bathroom. That’s when I hear it…
It sounds like water is dripping in the space between the first and second flood. I run back up the stairs and my wife I see what is about an inch of standing water in the bathroom floor. We throw as many towels as possible on the floor to soak up the water, and I fool with the back of the tank to get the water to stop running. That’s when it gets worse. I now hear what sounds like a waterfall downstairs and sprint back down to see a steady stream of water coming from one of the recessed can lighting and through several other cracks that have formed in the ceiling. I proceed to run out to the water valves in the garage, shut them off, and then come back in to put pots under the dripping to catch the water and use more towels to soak up the spilling on the hardwood floors.
Currently the leaking has stopped and we’re waiting on the service guys to show up. No doubt that there’s serious water damage that will cost thousands. Thankfully we have homeowners insurance, but this week will consist of phone calls, appointments, and possibly being displaced from our house, all while having to meet the demands of our jobs and pregnancy doctor appointments. This is what adult Sunday Scaries hell is made of. For all of you single, just out of college people that think the Scaries go away when you get older and settle down, you have no idea. Give me some positivity, Will.
Okay, so now we’ve officially moved from “degenerate drunk behavior” to “real life Sunday Scaries” in one fell swoop. Hangovers wear off, but water-soaked homes with babies on the way don’t.
Look at it this way: at least you’re responsible enough to own your own home and take care of another human life. I ate a pizza alone last night (yes, on Easter) while a group of people behind me at the pizza place screamed at the TV during the NCAA Women’s Natty Champ game. It was depressing.
…at least I got leftovers though.
Moving on, the subject of this email was “Worse Weekend: Doggy Style.” Not what I expected.
This weekend, in a drunken sexual encounter with my boyfriend, we decided to mix things up. Apparently, in said position change, my dog thought that I was now in extreme danger from my BF, and she needed to protect me. She (50 lb Shepherd mix), launches herself at him, and attempted to bite him in the upper thigh/junk area. I scream in terror, which wakes up his family. To wrap up this story, his family nearly saw me naked and totally knows what was going on. Sex was ruined, and Easter Sunday has been lovely with them….the only bit of joy from this, all of his male bits survived without injury. I guess I should be glad that she wants to defend me? Maybe kennel Rosie, just to be safe….
Dear God. I thought I was going to get some bootleg sex novel in my inbox but here I am scared to look at my dog in the eyes now. At least your boyfriend still has that thang on him. Nothing worse than eating Easter dinner with a bitten-off piece. I mean, I assume.
My Scaries from this weekend do not involve alcohol or bad spending habits, but boy do I wish that were the case. Since I was off for Good Friday I decided it was a good opportunity to go to my local wellness center and get some shots up at the gym. Got persuaded to play a 5-on-5 full court game, which is fine because a little cardio never hurt anyone, right? Wrong (I turn 28 this week, btw). My team won the first game, and in the middle of the second game my Achilles’ tendon completely ruptured while I was making a simple dribbling move. Very sad. I was playing with a buddy who happens to be a physical therapist and he confirmed the complete rupture, as well as the nurse practitioner at the urgent care clinic I went to, because of course no doctor’s offices were open because of the holiday. Not only did I have to wait until Monday morning to see a podiatrist and get a surgery scheduled for this week, the pain pills the previously mentioned nurse practitioner prescribed me are incredibly underwhelming. Luckily a complete rupture of the Achilles doesn’t involve a lot of pain, but I was still hoping to get some pills that made me feel good as hell. Oh well. Also, I wear a suit to work so the combination of walking boots and casts I will be wearing over the next 6 months are going to make me look real nice.
Not sure if this will help, but I once had my foot run over by a Jeep Liberty while I was hammered and it affected me for about four to five months. That’s another story for another day, but turns out I don’t respond all that well to Vicodin so the pain was evident the entire way through. All I can say is that you need to milk it as much as you possibly can. Someone offers to bring you dinner? You just got free dinner. Rides to places? Take ’em all.
All that being said, great work this week, everyone. I’ll be in New York City for the weekend starting Thursday, so I’ll need your stories next week more than ever. Thoughts and prayers. .