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And what a weekend it was. Despite my body feeling as if I had a terrible weekend, it’s impossible to say that every single part of the Touching Base trip to Chicago wasn’t an absolute blast despite feeling as though I got trucksticked by Terry Tate.
To hear all about the weekend that was, look no further than the Socktober podcasts.
And as always, we often recap some of these terrible weekend stories on the podcast as well, which are right here.
But enough about that. Let’s get to unedited reader-submitted worst weekend stories.
This should help with some Sunday Scaries…
I was casually dating this girl for about a month when she invited me over to her place on Saturday night to meet her friends. Sounded pretty harmless. I said I was in, until Saturday night rolled around and I didn’t feel like leaving my couch. Not wanting to rock the boat, I get in my car and drive the hour into Virginia to do this “couples” night.
I get to her apartment complex, and couldn’t find on street parking (I couldn’t park in the apartment parking lot past midnight without getting towed). I’m driving in circles, and finally pull into her apartment complex debating to just roll the dice and hope I don’t get towed. Turns out there’s a full blown drug bust in the parking lot (she lives in an awful area of town). Cops everywhere, guys on the ground, guns drawn…whole 9 yards. Fast forward, find a parking space about 5 blocks away and make my way to her apartment.
Well, turns out her friends are all people I’d never associate with. Also, she’s the only one drinking out of all her friends. Everyone is stone cold sober playing Cards Against Humanity. She’s bombed, and on her 2nd or 3rd bottle of wine. Just as I sit down I check in on my sports bets and I’m losing across the board. Down about $1K on the day (spread across arena football and baseball), so this is exactly where I want to be spending my Saturday night.
We get through hell on earth and everyone leaves, including her roommate. At least I’m going to get some sex out of the night. We make our way to her room and immediately turn the lights off. As we’re ripping each others clothes off I grab my clothes to throw them on her dresser. In that process I step in something. Immediately flip the lights on hoping it wasn’t what I felt…sure enough it was, I stepped in dog shit. Now we’re half naked trying to clean it up and get the mood on again. We finish up and she begged me to spend the night, just as I was about to break up with her after this god awful night. I ended up ubering back to my car and getting the hell out of there, shocked to not find my car up on blocks. A few weeks later things thankfully fizzled out.
It’s always tough to come back from literally stepping in dog shit mid-hookup. I mean, not that I’d know because (like you) I’d never associate myself with people like this who play Cards Against Humanity sober. No no no no no.
Just to set the tone: I’m turning 23 at the end of the month, and everyone knows that no one likes you when you’re 23. So I was sad and decided to go (maybe too?) hard.
The plan we had was simple, we were going to a farm in upstate NY, having some hard cider, picking some apples, and having some general farm fun before going out that night in Buffalo. What we didn’t count on was the heatwave we’d be having up here with all weekend being in the 90s.
What ended up happening: we got to the farm, decide to grab a drink and then grab a basket to get some apples for some good old fashioned fall fun. But because it was so hot, we kind of just kept drinking… Approximately 3 pitchers each of 7% apple cider. Fast forward 2 hours to 3pm and I’m throwing up beside the pumpkin patch in front of 10-15 kids and large group of very offended mothers.
Ended up getting asked to leave, very politely. Moved on to Taco Bell and then continued drinking until about 5am.
That was Saturday and 4 days later I’m still struggling with the hangover. Send help.
Now that’s how you get a fall weekend off. Honestly, that sounds like an absolute blast outside of the whole Taco Bell part. Sure, I love living mas as much as the next guy, but can’t be following up such a perfect fall activity with Cheese Gordita Crunches and Cinnamon Twists.
Actually, Cinnamon Twists sound pretty good with a cup of coffee. I take that back.
My weekend started out at around 1pm on Friday for me this week. I went to a liquid lunch with about 10 coworkers and immediately started getting sloshed at a restaurant downtown. We got back to the office 3 hours later and switched to drinking at the bar there while the CEO just shook his head disapprovingly at us. A great look for all of us.
After work, my boss and three female coworkers and I decided to go back to one of the girl’s apartment to continue drinking, but not before making the mistake of buying a bottle of wine a piece, and drinking them down by the riverwalk. By the time we get to this apartment, it was probably 9pm and we’d been drinking for eight hours. We posted up on her rooftop, admiring the city as we continue to take bottles of Barefoot to the face. As anyone who’s had a wine night knows, wine turns people into a loopy, flirty, too-comfortable-in-their-own-skin drunk. Since I am already too comfortable in my own own skin, this was not a good combo.
I don’t know who made the suggestion/dare that we all should go swimming in the rooftop pool, but I do know who made the suggestion that we should do it naked (it was I). Ended up skinny dipping with my boss and three coworkers in a freezing pool while I tried my best to hide my shrunken wiener from everyone. Awesome start to the night.
After finally having enough of freezing my ass off, I grabbed an Uber to my girlfriend’s house, where I promptly admitted that I had just been skinny dipping because I felt guilty. Needless to say, that did not go over well, and culminated in a drunken argument that lasted into the wee hours of the morning. The next day I had a brunch with my girlfriend and all her friends, so I was forced to take the ultimate train of shame home, sans boxers which I had apparently left at the pool.
The rest of the weekend went fine, but I’m now deep in the worst scaries of my life. My girlfriend and I are ok, although I still feel bad. I haven’t had any contact with my coworkers since Friday night, and I have a vague brownout recollection that someone may have taken a photo of us in the pool. Work tomorrow is going to be interesting.
Thoughts and prayers to this man. It’s tough to end the week on a drunken low note, but it’s another thing to have to worry about nudes of yourself floating around the office listserv.
It was good to meet you guys last night, but I’m suffering from gnarly scaries thanks to it so here’s my submission for the series.
A favorite podcast of mine (that I won’t name for anonymity) came to my city this past weekend. I met up with the group after an afternoon of too many steins at Octoberfest. Woke up this morning fairly certain I didn’t speak a fluent sentence the entire time I was with them. Example: I handed one member of the podcast a double of Crown which I couldn’t think of the name for the life of me even though I had just ordered it. As I stood there like an idiot trying to remember the name I could see a growing concern of whether or not this was a safe drink on his face. The only thing making me feel better is that one host that WILL also remain unnamed spilled the “drink” I bought him before I had even signed the bill.
Because we’re the most transparent podcast in the history of podcasts, I’ll just say it – it was us. I have to admit that I still feel badly for IMMEDIATELY spilling said drink that he bought for me. Like, the bartender sat it down and all of the sudden it was just dripping into my shoe from the bar.
But thanks for the drinks, and even more, thanks for coming out and supporting the cause.
I should begin by saying that everything originally started last Sunday (9/24). I should also preface by saying that I have a rare bleeding disorder called hemophilia. Look it up, its an interesting read.
Was in Cancun with the boys for a bachelor party starting the previous Thursday (9/21). Everything was going great, met a bachelorette party that was there at the same time and the two groups were making the resort our own. Then Sunday came along and we were drinking and enjoying the sun as we did the previous three days.
I hopped out of the pool and was walking around to the chairs our stuff was at when I slipped and landed on my left wrist. Didn’t really hurt but immediately started swelling up. Got back in the pool and told everyone what happened. The best man immediately got on me about going and infusing with my medication. After 20 minutes of him getting in my face I agreed and went up stairs to grab the supplies and head to the resort’s health clinic. The medicine is given intravenously, so all I needed was for someone to help start an IV because I was obviously in no shape to do it myself. Get there and the individual informs me its against resort policy to place IVs and that I would have go to a hospital to have that done.
Obviously I wasn’t about to go to a hospital in Mexico so I informed her I would just go up to my room and do it myself. There I was in my room, bordering on blackout, with a t-shirt as a tourniquet, getting ready to set up an IV line so I could take my medication. I was successful but by the time I was done the cleaning women had to believe we were doing some sort of drugs in our room. Swelling started to subside but not enough and it was still painful. I called Delta and was able to move my flight up from Thursday to Wednesday so in the meantime alcohol was my go to pain reliever. Landed Wednesday afternoon and went directly from the airport to the hospital where I found out I fractured the scaphoid bone in my wrist. They infused me with more of my medication, gave me some pain killers, wrapped my hand so much I look like JPP after he blew his fingers off, and sent me home.
Now I’m sitting here typing this with one hand waiting until my appointment with the hand surgeon this Wednesday to find out if I’ll need surgery. Overall, it was one hell of a bachelor party.
Dear God, man. My Monday Scaries are too bad right now to Google “hemophilia” and fully comprehend what I just read, but still, glad you didn’t die at a Mexican bachelor party. That could’ve been a huge damper on the wedding itself.
I went back to my alma mater this weekend. I know, I know. You always say never do this and I should’ve listened. I spent my entire weekend getting absolutely sloshed and I’m paying for it in the worst way. I woke up this morning with the worst hangover I’ve ever had in my life, haven’t been able to eat or drink water the entire day. Better yet, I had a solo 4 hour drive home. At one point I was literally puking in a bag while going 80mph on the highway.
Icing on the cake. I live in Chicago and fucking left the weekend of #socktoberfest. Idiot move. I regret everything.
Idiot moves all around. Today I was actually looking at a barf bag and wondered, “Do people even use these?” because it just seems like it would be difficult to manage, but sounds like you could’ve used one during that 80 mile-per-hour drive.
‘m very aware of your rule of never going back to your Alma Mater, and I would very much like to abide by that rule. Problem is, I LIVE in my college town. After four straight football home games, this was my recovery week before the cluster-you-know-what that is homecoming weekend.
So, I’m sitting in my favorite athleisure ensemble Friday night. Watching illegally streamed movies when I get the call. You know, the call we all dread as an early twenties professional who has no business doing the things we did a couple years ago. The call was from my buddy. Between the screams from what was obviously a slew of drunk undergrad females, he managed to get off a clear: “Its fucking lit”. So, as a person with no self control I went out. This is where it gets fun.
Took an Uber to the bars and unfortunately lost my passport (what I use as ID). Luckily, a buddy was working the door. I proceeded inside and upon seeing how drunk everyone else was: I ordered a shot tray. Not to share…For me. This wasn’t smooth, delicious Avion tequila either. This was Mid-West distilled Vodka. After what was probably a third of a bottle of 80 liquor. I had the liquid courage to go talk to the girl that had glanced at my sad, generate self not share am entire tray of shots. We instantly had a good convo, whether it was coherent or not I can’t tell you. But, she ended up waiting for an Uber back to my place with me. Score right?
Well, while the uber completed the “trip nearby”. I asked a question I should’ve asked before I even told her my name: “So, what year are you?”. She told me she was a senior….Not in college…At the local high school. This sent me into a panic of trying to find an excuse to suddenly ditch this girl. The truth that I’m 22 probably would’ve sufficed. But, bottom shelf Vodka clouds my quick thinking. So I just sprinted away as fast as I could. Someone running as fast as I was is admittedly sort of suspicious. That’s when I saw the lights behind me. I explained what I was doing to the surprisingly cool officer, and he gave me a ride home. I spent the next day thanking whatever higher power I believe in that I had not broken any major laws and made it home safe.
Anyone know how to get a Xanax prescription? Asking for a friend…
Okay, so hear me out. Am I crazy to think that you should’ve just gone home with her if she was 18? 17, is obviously off limits. I know, I KNOW, she’s still in high school either. But you’re only 22 and still partying like you’re still in college, so it kind of makes sense? I’m not sure – I’m 30 and I have no clue what high schoolers are even like these days. I just assume they wear a lot of Supreme and say “clout” a lot.
Can we forget I said any of that?
Went to a new place to get my hair cut because my usual person was on vacation. The guy I got stated “I’m about to give you the best hair cut of your life” then proceeded to give me the worst cut I’ve gotten since I let my cousin cut my hair when I was 12. Just scared about the roast I’m gonna get from my roommates when i wake up tomorrow.
And here we have our first ever haircut story.
This weekend I went to my third Oktoberfest celebration in a row and for my sake I’m really happy this holiday is winding down. After seven hours of aggressive drinking I discovered I had lost everything that was in my purse (including my ID and my debit card) which was probably a blessing in disguise because it meant I had to stop drinking and go home. It’s also important to note that this is the second time this month I’ve lost my debit card to being blacked out.
To cap off the night, I fell out of my Uber before it came to a complete stop and now have some pretty gross battle scars to show for that move. I haven’t checked my Uber rating recently but let’s just say it’s very likely a star or two fell off after that.
Oh and tracked down an old ID of mine that’s been floating around my college town and asked the underage girl using it to give it back. She won’t. Fuck college kids.
IDs are probably the most inconvenient thing to lose when you’re drunk because you can’t just make a phone call or hit up and Apple Store. Was the underage girl who uses your ID the same girl who tried to hook up with the guy above?
I stayed over a guys house for the first time.. his dog shit in the house and I stepped in it right after waking up. Great first impression.
I know I always say “never go back to your alma mater,” but come on, everyone. STOP STEPPING IN DOG POOP.
I took a half day Friday to drive up to Philadelphia since [my girlfriend] owed me a 5 Star dinner since the Chiefs beat the Eagles two weeks ago. I picked her up from work and of course we had to go get an outfit for the night. First things first, stopped for some drinks at a bar across from her office. She caught a mild buzz due to her low tolerance thanks to #mexicodiet2k17 (stay tuned for that in four weeks.) Hit up Barbour and got a new ‘fit for my fall aesthetic.
Finally got to the restaurant a cool 15 minutes late for the rezzie. We decided to pick our first round of drinks for each other, and ended up with the strongest drinks either of us had had since college.
A few bottles of wine (Duckhorn obvi) and a steak later, the live band starts playing a mash of “Fast Car” and “Closer” so you could say things were getting lit.
Saturday was the local tavern’s birthday bash with a pig roast. Her family is well known in the area so once we arrived, the party really started. Things escalated rapidly and we were home by 4pm. Next thing we know we have a box of Lab wine and Qdoba delivery because we’re trash people. We proceed to watch the original Pirates of the Caribbean and half of Mulan.
Spent Sunday at an apple orchard a la TGDAG before heading home to crush seasonal beers at her parents house trying to pretend I’m an Eagles fan. Only plus is I have tomorrow off and I’m currently #ToVestToBeStressed. Might fuck around and hit a local bar tonight. It’s all up for grabs now.
This is a very on-brand email, from both a Will deFries perspective and a Things Girls Do After Graduation perspective. Beautiful work all around. But should’ve used PROMO CODE ‘BEAN’ to buy a Filson on Man Outfitters instead of a Barbour.
Oh, and then his girlfriend sent a follow up email from his phone.
Following up from [Name Redacted’s] email. This is his girlfriend. He is black out drunk. I offered to DD for him and our buddy at the local dive. They each did five shots before the off duty bartender decided to tell my boyfriend he has the best dance moves he has ever seen, and bought them each a prairie fire shot. Our buddy proceeded to vomit everywhere. I cleaned up after him and called him an uber. I am sitting sober in my car while my boyfriend pees on a bush. It is 12:07 on Sunday evening.
Never do shots on Sundays. That’s one of my Ten Commandments of Sunday Drinking. That being said, you probably have worse Scaries than them but they’ll come around today and have full-blown meltdowns.
Can’t wait for next weekend, everyone. .