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I’ll be honest, I’m in Napa right now so I had zero Sunday Scaries last night because they’re delayed until Tuesday night when I’m faced with packing to go home.
That being said, I know I’m lucky this week. The rest of you weren’t. If these stories aren’t going to do the trick for you, then subscribing to The Sunday Scaries Podcast on iTunes will. Every episode is under 15 minutes which means you can binge it all morning in an effort to feel normal again.
Here’s the first episode to get your foot in the door:
As always, these stories are presented to you unedited. If you have one of your own, I’d love to hear it. Send it to firstname.lastname@example.org and we’ll see if it makes the cut.
To start things out, found out last week my wife is pregnant. Was not expecting that anytime soon.
For that reason, she thought it would be a good idea to babysit her 3 year old neice Friday night for “some practice.” I had a 27 hole golf tourney Saturday so the last thing I wanted was to baby sit.
About 10:00 I am ready for bed. Neice begs me to sleep with them. I couldn’t say no. (fingers crossed we don’t have a girl, she will never learn the word no) I wake up at 3:30 am with piss running down my side. The kid was almost on top of me and pissed the ENTIRE king size bed. Needless to say I did not go back to sleep for the rest of the night.
Positive note: came in 3rd in the tourney
First of all, congratulations.
Second of all, NOPE. I’m not saying your wife was in the wrong, but I’m also not saying it’s completely necessary to just start babysitting for practice. You’ve got like 9 months to prepare and I don’t think getting pissed on when your wife isn’t even showing yet is the move.
After a few months of hearing my buddies tell me to submit this, I finally feel good enough to do so. Long one, but needed to give it all.
This dates back to winter time when we had a Blizzard of the year warning coming for the weekend. Immediately after work on Friday I grabbed some pizza, beer, and snacks and planned to casually drink all weekend while being snowed in.
Come Saturday morning I got a snap from a girl that I had been very into for quite some time, but nothing really materialized. She asked if I wanted to be her drinking partner for the day. Naturally I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to drink and get snowed in with somebody I was in to. Only issue is she lived about 40 minutes north of me where the weather was supposed to be even worse. I weathered the storm and made it there at about 11:00 am.
As I walked into her place (she lived with her brother, sister in-law and their child) their dogs started to bark and woke up the child from his nap. We headed downstairs so it would be more quiet. Had a couple beers early but it was very apparent that she was still drunk from the night before. After 2 beers she passes out. Now I figured it was just gonna be a quick cat nap, wake up and then continue so I just watched some basketball on my phone and had a couple more drinks. She actually proceeded to sleep for 4 hours. This was after me waking her up, her brother waking her up and her sister in law waking her up periodically. All of us giving her shit about it. Nothing too serious.
She finally arises, just to fall asleep for another 3 hours. At this point I wanted to leave, BUT every single road in the city, and state was closed. I am essentially trapped. She finally woke up about 8:30 for good and said she felt a little weird, but would still be down to play some card games with her family and stuff. After about 10 minutes she says she doesnt feel good and proceeds to make multiple trips to the bathroom to puke. Turns out she had the flu. So now I am trapped in a blizzard with somebody who has the flu and roads didnt open until 10:00 AM next day. I have to sleep over there. Brother and Sister In Law feel terrible, she feels terrible and all I have is a slight buzz after casually drinking beers in their basement by myself for 8 hours. Wake up the next day, help shovel the driveway so vehicles can get out. Wait for 45 minutes at the interstate exit until it opens up and finally make it home safely after housing some McDonalds breakfast. Thought that was the end of it, but sadly not.
Woke up at 3 am Monday morning puking my guts out. Guess who had to call into work the next day with the flu.
**Insert GIF from The Other Guys with Will Ferrell “Did that go the way you thought it was gonna go? Nope.**
Have you ever seen the movie Two Night Stand? Because I feel like you have. I’ll break it down for you real quick — Miles Teller matches with a girl on a dating website and she comes over for a little romp in the sack. Next thing you know, they’re snowed in and hate each other’s guts before they finally come around and start to fall in love.
This is the exact opposite of what the hell you did this winter. I think you had the right intentions, but that girl sounds insane.
Somehow made it through the past two weeks alive. Condition of my liver and my body in general is not great…but like I said, I’m alive.
Here’s just a recap of my last two weekends:
Left on a Friday morning at 5am from DC to head to Vegas for a bachelor party. Arrived before 10am Vegas time and immediately downed two double bloodys at an airport bar. Less than an hour later we were at the hotel pool with the rest of the guys with coolers of beer. First night consisted of a table at the club with too much money spent on bottles of vodka. Bachelor lost his phone within the first 12 hours of being in Vegas, resulting in increased supervising responsibilities for us all weekend. All day pool on Saturday with a childhood throwback of Mase performing…if you call maybe 3 songs lasting less than 15 mins performing. Saturday night ended at a strip club after extensive gambling with the bachelor waking up realizing he had dropped almost $2K, which was after at least 5 of us had bought him other dances and time in the back. He had quite the look of defeat on Sunday morning. Early afternoon flight out of Vegas, which resulting in getting back to the east coast around 1am. Needless to say, the first few days of a work were a tired, hungover blur.
Thursday night went to a happy hour with coworkers to celebrate the beginning of August Recess for the DC political world. After too many IPAs (which I had previously vowed not to consume this summer), the whole group was on another drunk level. Coworker #1 proceeds to decide he is going to go for Coworker #2, after missing the clear signals she is not interested, he goes for the kiss. The whole thing was very public, especially the denial and the immediate desertion of the bar by him. Needless to say Friday morning was entertaining for the rest of us as they both looked like they had seen better (more sober) days. It only gets better that their offices are right across from one another. Friday night I met up with some college friends and a few hours later and a few bottles of wine deep I decide to be responsible and head home. After failing to find an Uber or Lyft for less than $30 (highest rates I had ever seen in DC for a short ride), I just so happened to get a text from the girl I had been trying to ghost. I quickly chose the 3 block walk to her place over an expensive ride back to mine. Left as soon as I woke up the next morning with plenty of regret and remembering why I was trying to ghost her in the first place. I was quickly forced to resume drinking Saturday for a friend’s birthday. After numerous vodka sodas, my will to keep going was teetering. I somehow lasted to 1am only to fall asleep at the last bar. Sunday recovery consisted of a bloody mary and watching puppies walk by my table at brunch.
Even though my wallet and liver hate me, I’d say it was a win for me. Didn’t spend too much on regrettable things with strippers, didn’t try to suck face with a coworker, didn’t give in to the overcharging ride sharing overlords and their surge pricing.
Have yourself some weekends, anonymous internet dude.
Look at it this way, you’re scared but the bachelor and coworker are in much worse shape. It’s terrible to say, but sometimes it’s comforting just knowing that other people are in worse shape than you. That’s actually why I started writing this column in the first place — I just wanted other people to bombard me with this stuff so I’d know I’m not alone.
I’m interning in DC this summer and it’s my first time living in a big city. If I’ve learned anything from being here it’s that brunch and happy hour bring together as much as politics drives them apart. The perfect union of food and alc, so I’ve discovered, is the boozy brunch. While the $35 price tag might deter some, my housemates and I were coming off of a Friday pay check and feeling way too confident in our drinking abilities. We sat down for a 2 hour boozy brunch that included bottomless pitchers of margaritas, mimosas, bloody marys, and beer and started downing margs like it would be the last drink we ever had. I started “casually” with three mimosas, but by an hour in we each had a personal margarita pitcher so we could drunkenly fill out glasses to our hearts content. While no one remembers how we got home, I came to the realization upon opening our front door that I forgot my purse on our table after ending the brunch with a tequila shot (normal, I know). Two $12 ubers later and I was back at the house to discover my housemates playing 21 cup beer pong. I, of course, had to jump in for a best of three game series. We won and I decided to reward myself with a victory nap. I woke up 20 minutes later to find my direct room mate had yakked all over our floor. I looked down at my phone and saw a calendar reminder for Mamma Mia 2. I threw a pair of sunglasses on and still drunk stumbled to the movie theater so I could buy popcorn and a slushie. I didn’t anticipate the room mate who threw up to make it to the theater, but about an hour into the movie she stumbled in, sat down beside me, and whispered “I made it bitches”. I used those words as inspiration when my alarm went off at 6:45am the next day to go to work.
We made it, bitches.
This has nothing to do with your story but I do have a question — is there anything worse than when someone tells you about the time they ran a table playing beer pong for an entire night? Like, hey Bryce, no one cares that you won 23 straight cames with your boy Clay at Sig Ep in 2008.
Im a long time…first time …. you know the drill. My crippling anxiety of exposing a fellow pgper has kept this Oldie but Goldie underwraps, but fuck it:
For a year and half I named a not-boyfriend (NBF) who’ll for the story be calle Bean*.For those unfamiliar a NBF it’s a guy who acts like a BF and has the expecations of a BF but wants none of the commitment being a BF entails. In the case of Bean he expected me to nurse him back to health after $.99 wing induced diarrhea, called me his “gift from god”and yet insisted that we were “just fucking casually”.
One day he FaceTimes me from the Nordstroms dressing room begging for my opinion on the joggers he was trying on. I told him they looked Euro chic as hell, which lead him to ripping them off and telling that he couldn’t be euro chic at the football game he was going to that weekend.
I asked him why did he didn’t tell me he was going because it was about 4 hours from where we lived. He shot back “You aren’t my girlfriend,I don’t need answer to you”. This was the straw the broke the cammel back and as they say :to get over this toxic dynamic I needed to get under someone else.
Fast forward to the next day and I get a series of drunken texts from Bean apologizing for his comment. I ignore them and start getting ready to see a guy that had been flirty with me for months . It’s now around 4:00pm. All of a sudden I start getting snaps from Bean of a golden retriever puppy. He knows they are my weakness and is trying to get me to respond. I keep getting ready for my date when I get another text from bean “I have the dog”. In shock I text him back and call him multiple times but there’s dead silence. It’s now around 7:00pm and I head to the new guy’s place hoping for some lust at first wine night. The new boy doesn’t disappoint and after two rounds of sugar we lay in bed it’s now 11:00 pm. When I check my phone I noticed over 20 missed calls from Bean. I recluntly call him back and find out he is an Uber.He doesn’t tell me to where and hangs up. I fall asleep and wake up to more phone calls it’s 4:00 am and Bean informs me that he took a four hour Uber home and has the dog. By this time the new boy wakes up and wants some birthday cake( if you get my gist). While he eats his cake, I make plans with Bean to drive 4 hours to get his car. The next day we get his car but we cannot find the dog’s owner so he has to take the dog. The dog is now refered to as the hell dog because Bean had a dream he was going to hell because he stole a dog. The dog lives better than 99.87% of people. I stay with Bean for another year because I never learn.
Moral of the story found a fuckboi, lost a fuckboi and he stole a dog to prove his love but still insisted he “wasn’t my boyfriend ”
*Names have been changed to reflect his ability to only love Jim Bean
P.s I’m using a burner gmail to submit this story
Okay, you do know it’s “Jim Beam” and not “Jim Bean,” right? Just making sure because I’m pretty sure you were faded on Jim Beam while writing this.
But grammar aside, is Bean the most romantic dude on the face of the earth? Stealing a dog and taking a four-hour Uber is a grander gesture than I’d ever make for pretty much anyone ever. Like, yeah, he’s a fuckboy who wears joggers to football games, but he’s also obsessed with golden retrievers so that kind of equals out.
Shouts to the dude who rounded out this love triangle, though.
So I never thought I’d be ratchet enough to be able to submit a story like this, but here I am.
Sorry it’s a little long, but there’s some backstory and key points that need to be addressed. To preface this story, let me brag a little bit about my awesome state of Michigan. We are known for our great lakes (pun intended) and it’s easy to shut down any argument about how summertime in northern Michigan beats all the rest. Inland lakes are no joke either.
Now, Torch Lake is notorious for it’s beautiful water, poppin’ sand bar, and focal point in some of Kid Rock’s songs. (Anyone not from Michigan/ the Midwest should definitely visit if you get the chance), but let’s get to the good (read: bad) part.
So it’s the weekend before the 4th of July and since I’m a wanna-be baller and impress my older brother’s hot ass friends, I invite everyone up to Traverse City for the weekend and rent a pontoon boat to go out on Torch Lake for the day on Saturday.
Everything starts out awesome. We go out to some local bars Friday night, drink as many craft beers that night that our bodies can handle, and wake up at 8am to get Saturday on the water started. I was hungover, so I immediately had to start drinking so I wouldn’t feel like death on the water. Once we get out there and anchor off near the sandbar we all start pounding our drinks and sharing everything so we can all get as drunk as possible. This includes beer, sangria, fireball, jack, and Tito’s.
My tummy starts to feel a little rumble-y because I’m hungover with the beer shits but keep adding more beer to into my body. I try to look for a boat with a cabin that I can cry to and beg them to use their bathroom but literally all I can find are pontoon boats and wake boarding boats. So I had to make a choice. Either throw up to settle my stomach and lose the buzz (wastedness) I had or do the unthinkable and shit in the lake.
Now when I say this was an EMERGENCY, I am not just trying to make myself sound better. I was getting cold sweats and shaking because my stomach hurt so badly and the sand bar is no where near a boat dock or anything even close to find a bathroom. So I did the unthinkable, had my brother push me in a tube to the middle of the lake… and pooped.
I am embarrassed but feel a million times better. So I swim back to the pontoon boat where I find out that my brother told EVERYONE what I was doing… remember, I find all of his friends very attractive. I’m mortified and it’s been like 4 weeks and none of them let me forget about it.
At least now I can laugh about it lol
First and foremost — big ups to The Great Lakes, Traverse City, and Torch Lake. God’s Country.
Secondly, you’re not officially a part of Northern Michigan until you’ve taken an aqua-dump. I’ve taken an aqua-dump, you’ve taken an aqua-dump, we’ve all taken aqua-dumps. It’s well-known that the best hangover cure is being on the water in Michigan, and with hangovers comes pooping. That’s just how it works. Obviously it’s not ideal, but it’s better than having to go in a devastated porta-potty a music festival or something.
It’s 5:48am here in Maui and the last thing I remember is puking out of the window of my parent’s rental car.
We are currently on vacation in Maui as a part of a larger family reunion to honor my grandfather, who passed away last year. I have interviews with a large public accounting firm later this week, so I leave 5 days earlier than the rest of my family. For this reason, my mom rearranged our vacation so that we could all attend a luau last night (my final night here).
On the way over, I was told we had an open bar at the luau. I knew I would likely blackout, but boy did I BLACK. Started with 3 drinks right when we walked in and then ordered two at a time from that point forward. I just found my heels in my purse (along with brand my new ray bans god bless). I vaguely remember puking all the way home from the luau. My parents will be awake soon and I’m likely going to be uninvited from all future holidays. My little sister refused to sleep in the same room as me. My red eye flight leaves in 12 hours and then lands at 6am. I will be heading directly to work. Pray for me.
Moral of the story- I need to stop blacking out and puking at family functions.
The real shit show
And she followed up.
I have been told I didn’t make it through the luau and decided to leave 3/4 of the way through and sit outside the venue. My 20 year old cousin followed me out and took care of me. Apparently I took my shoes off, laid on the floor of the parking garage, borrowed my 12 year old cousin’s scrunchie for my hair, puked in and on the rental car (which my mother proceeded to clean up), and then threw my credit card on the ground??
Highly likely I’m uninvited from all future family vacations. Woke up to a text message from my dad that included a photo of me asleep with my head on the toilet. Huge shoutout to pedialyte today.
Please don’t include this picture but I wanted to offer it for your personal viewing pleasure.
I can confirm that this photo was of her passed out with her head on the toilet. But she followed up again.
Apparently the 20 year old cousin had to talk cops out of taking me to the drunk tank last night. I have never been that drunk before. Here’s to not drinking for a good long while.
Yep, I hate to amplify your Scaries but your family is definitely talking behind your back.
This situation happened almost a year ago and I’ve finally gotten over the scaries it caused so I thought I’d share. So this all happened when I made the horrible decision to go back to my alma mater (I know, I know) and visit some friends who still live in the city. We pregame all day then finally hit the bar where we consume copious amounts of tequila. I decide to be responsible for once in my life and leave the bar around 1am to go back to my friends house. Call an Uber on the verge of blacking out and the last thing I remember is getting in the car. Fast forward an hour and a half later and my Uber driver wakes me up to tell me we’re at my house. I get out of the car and start looking around to realize I have no idea where I am. I figure I typed in the wrong address and am probably close to my friends house but realize my phones at 1% and decide call another Uber so I can go the hell home. Turns out in my blacked out state I typed in the wrong address on my first ride (put road instead of street) and ended up in a completely different city an hour and a half away from my friends house. Second Uber finally gets there, I get in the car and immediately started crying. I ask the driver if I can borrow his charger cause my friends are blowing up my phone wondering where I am and he says no. I start hysterically bawling and he finally lets me use the charger. To make thinks worse, buddy is a certified psychopath and is playing motzart music the entire drive home so I literally had 911 dialed ready to hit call in case anything happened. He speeds like a maniac the entire way home and manages to get me back in just over an hour. I’m still traumatized by this event and am $200 poorer. Fuck Uber and my inability to drink responsibly.
Girl, I’ve got news for you — this isn’t Uber’s fault. I actually did this once after a concert in a city that I knew nothing about. I wasn’t an hour-and-a-half away, but I was definitely off the beaten path. All I had was a Blackberry on its last legs and a black out person next to me who had no idea where we were. I was mad at Uber as well but I was also mad at myself for accidentally blacking out at a King of fucking Leon concert. .