STD Scares, Sex With A Boss, And Spring Break Filth: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

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I’ve spent the last four weeks working from home (read: not showering until noon; taking less than 2,000 steps a day). To cap off those four weeks from home, I spent the final three days of the last work week at a golf tournament getting the star treatment from The PGA Tour. To say that moving into a new office today is slapping me in the face would be an understatement.

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.

I learned the hard way that once you graduate college you’re done with spring break. It only took being kicked out of Epcot for me to realize this. I’m currently in a car on the way to Daytona beach with a major case of the scaries. Let me set the stage.

So I graduated college back in the spring of 2016 and am comfortably employed making decent money. Some of my buddies are still in college and when one said he had a timeshare in Orlando and they were going down for spring break I immediately agreed thinking I could still hang. Boy was I wrong.

I landed in Orlando and was immediately greeted with mini bottles of fireball. The drinking continued through the night. The next day was St Paddy’s day which consisted of an all day bar crawl around Orlando. Multiple clothes were stained green and we were asked to leave from more than one bar. When we finally made it back home we thought it would be a good idea to get some Denny’s. Our side of the restaurant was full when we got there and within 15 minutes all of the other patrons had either left early or moved to the other side of the restaurant. Probably a smart move on their part.

Our next stop was Walmart for more supplies, namely beer, where one buddy (let’s call him K) passed out in the paper towel aisle. After spending 30 mins trying wake him up we eventually all got out of there and turned in for the night. Next day we wake up and it’s time for Epcot. After a decent pregame we got our Uber’s and went to the park. Our main goal was to complete the Drinking Around the World bar crawl aka getting at least one drink at every country. We dove right in with some Avion margs at Mexico and it went from there. We bounced from country to country drinking and being those guys they warn you to stay away from. After being asked to move on from the pub in the UK we hit our last stop in Canada. From there we were all very inebriated and decided to ride some rides.

The first ride is spaceship earth in the big Epcot ball with no lap restraints. Bad mistake. Of course the ride breaks down and my buddy Cam decides to jump out and start messing with the animatronics. We repeatedly heard announcements saying to stay in your but that didn’t stop us. A father with two small children started getting into a yelling contest with Cam so another friend jumped out and walked up to the other cart where he was immediately dropped by this father. Security came and was about to escort us out but then decided we could finish the ride first. Cam just yells and throws the double birds for the rest of the ride. Sure enough security was waiting at the end and made sure to escort us all out. We definitely needed to leave. Eventually everyone made there way back to the resort and we passed out. Now I’m currently in a van on the way to Daytona beach with an unknown pain in my knee and some major scaries.

Send help,
Too old for spring break

Part of growing up is realizing that “vacation” no longer means “get as drunk as humanly possible for as many consecutive days as you can.” Once you learn how to maintain a steady buzz that won’t leave you with an earth-shattering hangover on day two, you’re officially an adult. Of course, this doesn’t go for bachelor parties or weddings. Those are essentially post-grad spring breaks.

I used to do this thing in college where before going out for the night I would add a bunch of stuff to the online shopping cart of whatever store I wanted to get stuff from at the time. Think Man outfitters type stuff, nothing wild. The point of it was that I would never buy the stuff sober cause I’m a financial hawk but as long as drunk me could remember those three digits on the back of the card, then hey. I deserve it.

Did it for the first time since college this weekend for st party’s in Dallas. Getting a phone call from American Express wanting to discuss your recent Neiman Marcus charge will sober anyone up but hey really looking forward to them Gucci bits.

I once woke up and discovered that I had drunkenly purchased an entire linen suit. White. I must’ve been listening to Pitbull or something. I’d say you’re good for what you did, but you didn’t do it at Man Outfitters.

Seriously, shop at Man Outfitters. Our new stuff is dope.

So St. Paddy’s Day got me. Wasn’t going to celebrate but felt obligated due to dual Irish/US citizenship. Plus, people kept buying me drinks and that’s something I can’t refuse. Started off the day by missing the whole parade in my city. Proceeded to go to a bar where a girl was throwing up on a table and onto her hair at 3pm. At the same bar, roommate and I said fuck it and skipped the women’s bathroom line and beelined it for the men’s room. Other random girls proceeded to follow. Come out of the bathroom and there’s a line of dudes, apparently they’re not used to waiting for the bathroom.

The rest of the day time was low key and full of green beer, until the night time hit. You know “the freaks come out at night.”

I leave my roommates and go with an acquaintance and her group of friends to other bars. I run into a coworker and talk to him awhile, and end up saying “I’ve always thought you were cute but can’t go up to you at work and say I want to fuck you.” Were gonna go with him and his friends back to their house but ended up at another bar for the rest of the night. Dancing and drinks were flowing and I got fingered on the dance floor. Fun stuff but not something to be doing at almost 25. Only damage done though was to my ego. St. Patrick must be really ashamed of us all.

I’m sorry but the clause that came after “dancing and drinks were flowing” just jarred me. Too much for a Monday morning. Just far too much.

I kind of just need to share with a third-party to ease some of the anxiety.
Even if you don’t read it, I feel better.
ps. I skipped 6th grade and never fully grasped grammar. My apologies.

I don’t know many people in Dallas yet, so I agreed to go out with a group of 23 year olds.
I’m 27. I think you know there is a huge difference in drinking capabilities between these two ages.

10:00am
Four shots of Rumple Mintz at the pregame.

11… yeah I don’t know.
At a Greenville bar. Bought everyone Irish car bombs. It’s currently Monday and I’m still not ready to check my bank account.

A waitress is walking around with Jell-O shots.
I don’t remember why, but she told us to grab as many shots as we want. I think.

Jump to me leaning against a tree.
Apparently I said something offensive and the group left me.

My knee is bleeding profusely and these girls ask if I’m okay. I sat on the ground with my knees up. In a skirt flashing everyone. A cop comes over and threatens to arrest me. The girls carry me away.

They put me in one of those camping chairs and feed me a plain hot dog bun. They even cleaned up my knee.

For some reason I completely forget that Uber exists and start firing off messages on Hinge asking for a ride. One message: “Please pick me up I’m in trouble. I don’t know why I did this to myself please. We can calm down at my place.” Sad.

A rando guy gives me a ride home but insists on coming in my apartment and kissing me. I make him leave and fall asleep holding my dog.

The real MVPs are the girls who helped a sista out. If I knew who they were I would make it rain. Without them I would’ve come to in jail and it would have obviously been soooo much fucking worse. Hey, that actually makes me feel a lot better!! Not in jail!! Maybe I’ll survive this. Time to see if everyone actually hates me!

Nothing in the world could make me come to the decision that you came to. Not knowing anyone in a new city is a blessing to me, not a reason to hang out with a bunch of 23-year-olds. They’re seasoned drinkers who still reside in their prime. We’re washed. I’m not saying you deserve what happened, but you definitely made the wrong decision.

Okay, the next story simply can’t be defined as a “Worst Weekend Story” even though that’s how he emailed it to me. It’s actually a dream scenario for a single dude, so buckle up.

Hey. Long time reader, first time submitter, yada yada. Finally recovered enough to tell this story. Real doozy here so I apologize in advance if it’s a bit incoherent.

Ill start with a short backstory so that everything going forward makes more sense. I live in southern california and like a significant portion of my peers, I enjoy surfing. A few months ago, I was out a couple days after a storm surge and got mashed by a wave. My board washed into the beach and I swam into grab it. As the swell was pretty rough I arrived a few minutes after said board. It had washed into some poor girls photo shoot and she had proceeded to use it as a prop. As she was faaaaar out of my league I did as the kids say now days “shot my shot’. I agreed to let her take a few more pictures with it if i could get her contact info once she was finished. I get what I assumed was a fake # and she gets to use my surfboard.

Heres were the real story begins. A few days go by and I shoot her a text. We begin a conversation and start to realize that we have a great deal in common. Turns out she was on vacay and is a NYU grad student on exchange in Paris who hails from the balkans. Confusing as shit, I know. Any ways, texts turn to skype calls and we talk close to every other day. After a month or so of this, she says that she’ll be back in the balkans to celebrate her birthday. This just happens to coincide with an already planned trip to europe. She invites me to her birthday and I went for it.

Needless to say, the first part of the trip was great, a week split with family south of Milan and the family lakehouse on Como. The second part of the week is where the wheels come off the bus. Turns out every stereotype about eastern europe is true. Every single one and then some. I arrive in her home country and get the full experience. The first couple of days are at her parents house. Okay at first until the first days lunch. Her father suggests that we take shots of balkan moonshine “Rakija” with lunch. I agree and from there the descent into a week long alcohol and drug fueled bender begins. Turns out Rakija is a custom with every meal with heavy beers in between. After dinner pregame for the clubs start with more Rakija, beer and whatever else was in the vicinity. Once we get to the clubs, an unexpected flurry of snow came down if you know what I mean. As a functioning alcoholic, this was a piss poor recipe. The last night in her home town we found ourselves pulled over by federal police. The breathalyze the driver and pull him out of the car. A short bit of bribery later and we go on our merry way.

I manage to hold it together for the first few days and manage to put on a wonderful “functioning person facade” for her parents.

Cue the second part of the week. Her and I head to her lakehouse in Ohrid, a large party destination for people of the region. Our visit coincided with the three day Green beach music festival. The first day at the lake begins well enough, and we have lunch with the same friend of hers who was driving the car, at a very crowded high end beach front restaurant. As we didnt have a reservation, I inquired as to how we got the table. Apparently, the friend we were withs mother was head of one of the countries political parties and held a great deal of sway with the locals. So all it took was a bit of name dropping and a few threats. Also, the restaurants specialty is a critically endangered fish that only lives in the lake there. I can confirm that it is tasty as fuck, probably why its endangered.

Fast forward through three days of dusk til dawn binge drinking, drug use, and horrific decision making, and its my last morning in country. Having gone to bed a little after 6 I get woken up by her phone. A bit of heating exhange in what sounds like russian and she says that my driver back to the airport is hear early. I hurriedly get dressed and pack my shit. I rush doen stairs and jump into the car next to three very pissed off french people. As i speak only rudimentary french and none of the native countries tounge I spend the next two hours in a still drunk daze. We get to the airport well enough and i head to my terminal. The scaries hit me as soon as I realized the plane I was flying out in had actual propellers. Fucking easter europe man. After a stop in belgrade, i spend the night in the airport in milan, followed by a flight to Frankfurt, and a layover in vegas. After 40ish hours of flight and layovers, I finally arrived in California at 2 in the morning sunday night. I had work at 7 the next day during which I checked my bank account and noticed the $5000 void. Needless to say, the scarries were the scarriest they’d ever been.

Attached is a snap from the ordeal to confirm hotness of said girl.

While I cannot in good faith attach this Snap, I can confirm that she is a very good looking lady.

Okay, let’s move on. I hate my life after reading how dope this guy’s life is.

Been trying to block this one out of my memory for two months but here it is. Went out with an old friend of mine in January and she tells me we can stay at her friends place. I’m assuming the friend is coming out, well she’s not. She tells us to just call her when we come back because she’s staying in due to not feeling well.

Go to the first bar with my old friend and we start downing Vegas bombs and $2 well drinks. Then we proceed to walk to another bar where I somehow spend $56 when it’s $2 well drinks there too. My last memory there is fireball.

We somehow made it to dominoes where we proceeded to buy a large pizza that I immediately dropped yet proceeded to still put back in the box for later. The next part is where things get VERY blurry.

Outside of dominoes on our walk home we met a couple guys (I don’t even know what they look like tbh) and they invite us back to their house. For some reason our drunk selves went back to their house and all I remember is standing in the doorway and looking outside to find the guys girlfriend screaming at me. The guy then starts acting like we’re intruding even though he invited us in and claims he’s going to get his gun (I know it was extra). Apparently I started screaming back and we both left abruptly running down the unfamiliar street with our pizza still in tow.

Worst part of the story happens when we get back to the apartment of the girl we’re staying with. After cleaning off the pizza that did in fact fall on the ground I immediately start throwing up literally all over myself. Pretty sure I pissed myself too. I wake up on a damp futon with my pants in a pile next to me. Steal the first pair of sweatpants I find and we fucking book it out of there.

I had a 2 hour ride back to work the next morning and got a text from the girls roommate that day telling me the futon is $200 and she accepts Venmo. Can’t say I’ve gone out with that old friend since. This incident caused me well over a week of pure anxiety and I hope I can continue to block it from my brain.

Wait, you went to work the next morning? After throwing up and pissing all over yourself? I’m normally not an advocate for hungover sick days, but this is a case where you just need a personal day to — oh, I don’t know — figure shit out?

Oh, and that dude threatening to grab his piece after inviting you over is too aggressive. 100% chance that guy follows Cloyd Rivers on Twitter and thinks he’s hilarious.

I honestly never thought I’d ever have a story to send to you, but this weekend left me with Scaries that stayed with me until Wednesday.

A friend of mine and I went to SF this weekend to do a pub crawl. Apparently she had also met this guy a couple weeks ago at a bar in Colorado who lives in the bay area so she invited him to join us. When we got to the first bar, he was there with another friend of his, and so the four of us set off around the block. It takes little to no time for both my friend and the guy she invited to get smashed, and for the rest of the night his friend and I had to babysit them while they were constantly disappearing and making out. I thought that this guy’s friend was really attractive, but after a couple of drinks (and a glance at his left hand), he tells me that he’s married and has kids. A couple bars (and more than a couple drinks) later, he starts saying that his marriage is in shambles and that the kids are actually his stepkids. Now, no part of this really should make a difference, but my drunken self starts using this as justification that it’d be okay for us to take things to another level. After all, I found him super attractive, and the two of us were having a really great time.

Well, later on, my friend suggests that the guys just come up to our hotel room and stay with us for the night since the BART was closed for the night and it would cost them a fortune to take a cab all the way around the Bay. I’m now ashamed to say that I agreed to it. Long story short, I slept with a married man (although we didn’t have sex, there was definitely stuff that went down), whose name I can’t even remember.

The next morning, I woke up early, went down to grab coffee, and wallowed in serious self-loathing for a while. I went back up to the room just in time to point the guy to the coffee shop, give him an awkward hug and send him packing.

Yeah, that dude’s a scumbag and if he didn’t cheat on his wife with you then it was going to be someone else. Don’t feel bad, people make bad decisions and he’s more at fault than anyone.

Also, if anyone is ever in San Francisco for St. Patrick’s Day (which I assume she was), hit up Fiddler’s Green. Stereotypical spot? Yes. Have I cured numerous hangovers there by absolutely drowning my food in HP Sauce while drinking a Guinness? Of course.

Now for an email titled “I fucked my boss and got a black eye, a saga.”

So I’ve finally worked up the courage to write in.

Let me preference by saying that it’s been a while since the incident, but my scaries are finally starting to subside. I think I can face the reality of the situation and potentially file it into the part of my brain where I don’t have to think about this daily.

So I work for a pretty chill company, where coworkers frequently get together and drink. This is mostly because almost all of my coworkers are foreign and don’t have any other friends… side note, them motherfuckers can drink. RIP to my liver when I retire.

I say that to defend myself when my boss/friend texted me wanting to have drinks on a Saturday night, it was a normal thing. I obliged because why not, kiss ass to the boss, have some good drinks, seemed like a good situation to me. Not to mention, he’s super fucking hot.

We agree to meet at this local patio bar, cause duh, who doesn’t love patio drinking on a hot summer night. Of course being the post grad I am, I pregame the bar while getting ready. By the time, ole boy had arrived, I was three pre glasses of cab in and had finished about half of my IPA. Yes, I am one of those people…

We begin talking, the hours slipped by, and the next thing I know, we are about 6-7 craft beers in, with a few shots mixed in between. Then this is where the night goes downhill. He mentioned for us to go to this underground speak easy club at like 12:30am.

We walk over to that club and there’s a huge line to get in. We wait for a few minutes then he asks the bouncer if he could buy a bottle for us to get in. We go through the back door, get prompted to VIP and 3 $200 bottles of champagne later, him and I are grinding in the dance floor.

I blacked in and out for the next few hours, apparently we ordered a $75 uber back to my house, and well, I don’t have to tell you what happened after that.

Here’s where the story takes an interesting and devastating turn. I wake up the next morning, facing my window away from him. When he turns me over to cuddle, his eyes got real big and I felt a bandaid on my face. I was thinking wow, I probably look real stupid with this shit on my face. I get up and go look at myself in the mirror…. I HAVE A FUCKING BLACK EYE. I GOT A BLACK EYE FROM HAVING SEX APPARENTLY. Not only did I have a black eye, he had a huge cut above his head which apparently bled out, all over my white bed sheets.

Now it’s a Sunday morning, I’m in bed naked with my boss, with a huge shiner for Monday morning meetings. Life’s just peachy.

SIX OR SEVEN CRAFT BEERS IN? Maybe it’s because I’ve tortured my liver for over a decade now, but I’d be blacked out.

Black eyes are low key tight, though. I’ve always wanted one so wear that thing with pride.

Writing to you poolside with a bad combo of extremely aggressive Friday night + crippling anxiety about my future. Friday I started at a 4:30 happy hour, ran into coworkers at a different bar and ended up barhopping with them – not great when you have a 5K at 8am the next day. Girl who recently broke my hear wanted to meet me out and since I’m a weak man I invited her. Went back to her place after and since I’d been aggressively drinking for 8 hours now, ol’ boy couldn’t perform. She started crying because she thought it was her fault and then mounted me while I slowly passed out. Not ideal situation all things considered. 5 hours later I’m ubering home to make it to this 5K in time (managed to finagle out of running and just volunteer thank god).

My cousins whom I love dearly so wanted to go out during the day post race so I said yes because I’m a degenerate and a lack of sleep + crippling hangover isn’t a clear enough sign to let me know that it’s a bad idea. Go home real quick to change before day drinking and I threw up all over my living room coffee table – and apparently that’s a clear enough sign for me to stick with waters the rest of the afternoon.

Now it’s Sunday and I’m in the process of writing this as a break from my letter of intent to get into grad school for my MBA. Also in the midst of applying for new jobs since my current one leaves me unfulfilled professionally. Oh, and I’m traveling for 10 consecutive days for said job starting Wednesday so that won’t leave me behind on any of my work of anything. Also starting apartment hunting in April.

T&Ps are much appreciated. It’ll be a glass of red wine with dinner type of night for sure.

You know a 5K is barely a thing, right? Like people don’t train for those or prepare for them whatsoever. Running one drunk and/or hungover would probably be more fun than actually running it sober.

First time writer, long time, reader and DCO… Friday night I found myself at home relaxing, thinking giving myself one night off without drinking would be a nice change in pace, until I started to feel a certain pain. You see, I’ve been seeing this new girl for a few weeks now, and we’ve had some fun together, humble brag, and well, now theres a certain pain you don’t want to feel, and I think you know where this is going. I tried to brush it off, took some advil and went to bed. Saturday was more of the same, full panic mode. Spent the whole day confused and panicked.

Woke up Sunday and called my Dr for an emergency appointment. Went in, peed in a cup and waited for the results, only for the Dr to come in the room and say that is was inconclusive, and to wait to see if the discomfort persists. Now I’m sitting at home, full scaries mode with $50 on Kansas, which could either make or break my night. Shit.

Wait, can someone in the comments enlighten me? I’ve never had an STD (not to brag) so I’m clueless here.

I’m not saying this week’s submissions were bad, but I am saying that I didn’t get the volume I would’ve liked. If you’ve got a bad story, send it to will@grandex.co and make everyone feel better about their life. .

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Will

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

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