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I clearly didn’t get the nickname “Sunday Scaries” by being an advocate of Sunday partying. After all, I’m way more likely to be found scrolling my iPad in the fetal position with Netflix on than I am to be found at a Sunday concert not thinking about what type of hell Monday has to offer. That being said, I live a life of leisure which commands that I semi-regularly partake in some Sunday daytime festivities. Girls don’t give their numbers out to pale squares who wallow in their own filth every Sunday. They want renaissance men who know how to handle their liquor, no matter the day.
But when I commit to doing some heavy day drinking to close out the weekend, I abide by a strict set of rules in order to keep myself in check. I don’t want to look back on my life in thirty years and realize that partying on Sundays (only to ruin my Mondays) stunted my career trajectory and prohibited me from buying a farmhouse full of bird dogs.
And to be honest, the rules are pretty simple.
I. Thou shall shower.
You may think you can roll out of the Uber from your one-night-stand’s place and roll straight into a brunch situation, but I’ve got a newsflash for you: you stink. You may not think you stink because you swished with a makeshift mouthwash of toothpaste and tap water, but you’re forgetting about all the dancing and sex you did the night before. Do yourself (and everyone else) a favor and take the 20 minutes to get fresh before embarking on your Sunday.
II. Thou shall not say, “Sunday Funday.”
You know who says that? Dumb girls who finish their Sundays drunkenly yelling at their boyfriends and annoying bros who stand around the pool drinking RedBull-Vodkas while listening to “The Thong Song.”
And yes, after typing that, I do realize that it sounds kind of awesome to stand around a pool drinking RedBull-Vodkas while listening to “The Thong Song” but I’m still standing by what I said. The phrase “Sunday Funday” is played out.
III. Thou shall brunch.
Real talk: you need a base. It doesn’t matter that you can barely stomach your Eggs Benny order because you have heartburn from all the Fireball shots you did at last call. Drinking on a Sunday without a solid foundation is like skiing with your boots unbuckled with no poles. Yeah, it may work out, but chances are that you’ll fall flat on your face.
IV. Thou shall wear sunglasses.
No one wants to see how cashed your eyes are from the night before. Your friends will all tell you that you look like shit and your waitress will wonder whether or not she should actually serve you. Furthermore, there’s nothing more devastating than going into a restaurant bathroom with a jag on and seeing what you look like in the mirror when you have bloodshot and tired eyes. Investing in some good party shades not only makes you look cooler around other people, but it’s also a little self-fulfilling as well.
If Bernie Lomax can appear alive for an entire weekend because he’s rocking some solid specs, imagine what they’ll do for you on a Sunday afternoon. As my friend Douchebag Pete says, “Look good, play good.”
V. Thou shall seek a relaxed setting.
Be honest with yourself here. In your heart of hearts, do you think going to a packed bar that’s blasting aggressive EDM music mid-day is really going to lead you to the promise land? No.
An outdoor patio, your buddy’s lakehouse, your back porch. Fuck, do it in your own Panic Room Panic Room for all I care. Just don’t get caught somewhere that’s putting out a Saturday vibe or you’ll find yourself being Sunday hungover at your desk come Monday morning.
VI. Thou shall obey the alcoholic beverage power index.
Your body is only as strong as the choices you make. When you first start golfing, you don’t just head straight to the black tees because you’re setting yourself up for disaster. You temper your expectations, start forward, and keep it manageable. Well, same goes for your Sunday beverage choices.
The beauty of Sunday beers is that it ain’t Friday anymore and you can’t just easily fire down 30 Miller Lites before finding yourself housing a 3 AM pizza at Douchebag Pete’s apartment wondering where the babes went.
Use your hangover much like a golf cart uses its governor. Let it slow you down to modest pace that still allows you to keep up with the pace of play.
When you start with Bromosas, it’s clear where your heads at. You’re trying to shampoo it in a little without getting fall-out-of-your-seat drunk. But as you keep pouring them, you start adding a little less OJ and your hand gets a little heavier on the champagne because, hey, you’re feeling good. It’s potentially dangerous yet still non-lethal.
Do I partake in #TervisWineSundays? Of course I do, because they’re awesome. Do I toss ice cubes up in that Sauvignon Blanc and say, “No no, you can put ice cubes in wine because they melt and it hydrates you.”? YUP.
I mean, just between you and I, do you really think a double-Beam and Coke is the move? You’ve got work tomorrow, man. Clean it up. That being said —
VII. Thou shall never, under any circumstances, do shots.
You know when you’re in a Mexican airport and all the gift stores have the shirts that say, “1 Tequila, 2 Tequila, 3 Tequila, Floor.”? Your blood-alcohol level is already sneaky high from the night before. Injecting yourself with straight 80 proof is bad news no matter how you slice it.
VIII. Thou shall not skip prior obligations to drink.
Every Sunday, I eat family dinner with my direct and extended family. We bring appetizers to pass, eat some staple family entrees, and all leave my about 8 o’clock. It’s a real centering, zen situation that delays the Sunday Scaries for a couple hours.
The one rule of family dinner? You don’t no-show a family dinner. And if I ever no-showed because some afternoon pitchers turned into me going to totally off the grid until I send a Monday email apologizing? That’s a one-way ticket to my family sitting around the dinner table without me exploring whether or not I have a drinking problem.
If you’re riding the wave on Saturday and you think some of your Sunday obligations are in jeopardy, you best plug your phone in and do some damage control.
IX. Thou shall not drink past midnight.
The fact of the matter is, your parents were right. Nothing good happens after midnight.
The National Sleep Foundation (not entirely positive how this can possibly be a thing) suggests that the average adult gets between 7-9 hours of sleep per night. Let’s do some simple math.
If you wake up for work at a reasonable 7 AM and you get 8 hours of sleep, that means you’re hitting the hay at a respectable 11 PM right after Mad Men ends. If you’re slinging back voddy-sodas past the midnight hour on a school night, you’re flat out looking for trouble. You barely get any REM sleep when you’re hammered as it is, so don’t play with fire and think you can keep it chill until 1 AM. You can’t.
IX. Thou shall take preventative hangover measures.
You need to do whatever it is you do to prevent your own personal hangover for work on Monday. Chug ten glasses of water, eat a loaf of bread, take some Alka-Seltzer, I don’t care. Everyone at work already knows you went out the day before because you posted an Instagram of how awesome you looked in your new Persol party shades at brunch, so don’t compound that idiocy by reeking of booze at your desk.
X. Thou shall not call into work on Monday.
If you can’t stand the heat of drinking on a Sunday, then you best make your way out of the kitchen..