Underage Makeouts, Long Weekend Benders, And Drunk Dads: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

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Apologies for the tardiness of this week’s post. I know, I know, it was only a couple hours late but we were recording a Bachelorette podcast since the new season started last night. Please listen if you’re a Bachelorette fan, and also listen to The Lost Tapes episode that gives me anxiety because we were three sheets to the wind while recording it.

Three day weekends are a gift and a curse. The gift is the extra time off. The curse is, well, the extra time off. No one ever spends it doing anything responsible — they spend it slamming light beers on large bodies of water. That’s just how it works. Keep telling yourself this:

Alright, lets get into it. As always, these stories are presented to you completely unedited in their origial form. They’re found in blockquotes below. Send your best stories to will@grandex.co to get included in future installments.

Buckle up.

Hey Will,

This happened months ago, but the scaries have lasted so long I haven’t felt comfortable about telling it (read: reliving it) till now. Strap yourself in cause do I have a story for you. Sorry in advance for the length but it’ll be worth it.

It happened this past October. Me and two of my buddies from college decided to go to The Hunt in New Jersey. Both grew up in the area, so I crashed with one of them at his parent’s house. He and I have been friends for years, so I’m close with his parents as well. Put a pin in that cause that’ll come back up.

Anyway, me and friend I’m staying with arrive to the event just before 11 to meet up with our other friend who has a parking spot in the grass with all the young adults and college students. The second we get there, he hands us beers and we get under way. Things start off pretty low key as we’re just hanging out drinking Bud Lights. At one point, I glance at the parking spot behind us and lo and behold it’s one of my best friends from high school. Had no idea she’d be there but it was a happy surprise. The thing about the space she was at, though, was they had like five handles of just about every kind of alcohol you can think of and numerous bottles of champagne. Naturally, because I have no self control, she and I start pounding the hard stuff and things start going downhill. It wasn’t much later that people my college friends know from high school show up and we start playing drinking games. It’s about 1:30 at this point and I am completely blacked. The following was reported to me by my friends.

Apparently while drinking games were going on, this group of girls showed up to join us. We’re all early 20s (please remember that) and I guess we look young so I’m assuming they thought we were still in college. Well, apparently one of them and I hit it off, and pretty soon we start drunkenly making out right there. What blacked out me failed to realize, was that not only did this girl turn 18 a few weeks ago, but she still had BRACES. Oh wait, it gets worse. After the race was over everyone was clearing out and I had managed to get away from this girl so it was just me and the friend I was staying with on our way out around 3ish. As we left, for some reason I thought it was a good idea to start chanting “fly eagles fly” and “let’s go phillies” (I’m from the Philly area) in a town of Giants and Yankees fans. Apparently I had multiple people tell me to shut the fuck up and another almost threw hands at me. After managing to not get my shit wrecked, we get drunk pizza and catch a ride home to pass out. Bet you think that’s it right? NOPE.

When I wake up later that night, feeling like shit, I walk into the living room and see my friend’s parents about ready to die laughing. Now, for so long I was under the impression that they made this up to fuck with me, but events in the months between this story and now have made me not too sure. They tell me that in my blacked out state, I had gotten up from the couch, walked upstairs into their bedroom, walked to their closet and almost peed there before my friend’s dad realized what I was doing and stopped me. Not only that, but my friend told them about the girl I hooked up with and they now have material to roast me until the end of time.

Upon waking up the following day for the drive home, I realized that not only had this girl managed to add me on snapchat at the race, but she found me on instagram and requested to follow me. Obviously, I immediately blocked her on both. All in all, I’ve received endless amounts of shit for this and am so happy my brother and I have already agreed to be each other’s best man when we get married one day. I am 100% confident my buddy would tell this story at the rehearsal dinner. Oh well, at least she was legal right? Right??

If you have to ask “At least she was legal, right?” after telling your story, I think you know that things derailed.

I’ve always wanted to go to The Hunt. Has always been a bucket list item for me but unfortunately, I’m just too old now. Can’t be a 31-year-old dude stumbling around a field in a Filson jacket chugging cheap bourbon out of plastic handles.

Side Note: I’ve heard of so. many. people. peeing in closets thinking that they’re bathrooms. I don’t know the mental stuff behind it but it’s a real thing and it will always make me laugh.

Will,

Long time, first time; I never really deemed one of my drunken weekend stories worthy enough to submit until now (I had to wait until the non-threatening environment of the Friday before Memorial Day to compose the story as it took me that long to regrow the shell I lost last week) so I guess it’s a good one.

Two Saturday’s ago, my girlfriend and I traveled from California back to Florida for her friend’s wedding. Just to give you a little background on the schedule and location, the wedding was to take place in our college town and we are about four years removed from graduation, so we wanted to “make a thing of it” and just go for a week. My girlfriend was a bridesmaid so I was invited to the rehearsal dinner as well which was to take place the following Thursday and the wedding on Friday. My girlfriend’s parents who also live in Florida got wind that we were coming for a full week and wanted to join in (they are in their mid-40’s and can hang better than we can anyway) so we all got a 2/1 Airbnb in town from Sunday-Thursday (no that’s not even the worst part, I’m just getting started).

So, the week starts off great, May is a great time of the year in Florida and we’re doing all the local things and staying away from the touristy spots. Day drinks were had and old college happy hours were attended, all fun right? No, not even fucking close to being right. Wednesday rolls around and we were drinking a little more than normal because we all had to depart the next day (her parents for home and us for a hotel closer to the wedding). We hit up this little Martini bar that is famous in town for bringing the whole shaker when you order a martini, so it turns into Pam Beasley’s second drink. Well your boy thought he would exude an air of class in front of the parental unit, so I order a dirty gin martini. I down the basically two gin martinis that my order came with and coupled with the beer and liquor I consumed whilst day drinking in 80 degree humid weather, I’m feeling pretty good. We leave the martini place and go next door to an Irish bar that was a staple in college as well. We sit down and I order a Guinness like her father does to kiss his ass, and apparently everyone was feeling toasty because I start to get the third degree from her mother on my “intentions” with her daughter i.e. life goals, where I see myself in 5-10 years, whether or not we’re moving back to the basement of America Florida any time soon, suffice it to say I’m fucking uncomfortable and rapidly coming back to earth off the gin/Guinness combination. I look over at my gf’s father and after the grand inquisition where he did the whole “leave the kid alone” thing, orders me another Guinness as a good faith gesture.

The gf and I end up breaking off from her parents after these last drinks to head to one (final) place we went to in college. I’m pumped because I know the bartender pretty well and in my mental and physical state, I could definitely go for some free shots. We finish our first drinks and my girlfriend tells me she’s dead tired and needs to go home. I’m in a full-blown brown out right now and I somehow convince her to let me stay for “one more drink” so she heads out and I stay and shoot the shit with the bartender and do a couple tequila shots. Some townies start to fill in (this is a Wednesday night in a small beach side town bar after all), and I end up taking a few hits from this sketchy dude’s weed pen. Another guy, who’s a bartender from a place we went to the night before ends up buying me 2 shots of Fernet and another round of mixed drinks. 5 minutes later and I am full fucking debaucherously blacked out. I awaken the next morning at 7am (in my Airbnd by the Grace of God) with my own puke on my left arm and down my shirt, still fully clothed from the night before. About a minute goes by and as I start to come to, I remember a nightmare I had while I was sleeping and it involves my girlfriend’s father picking my ass up from the Fernet Shot Bartender’s house, basically carrying a dead corpse leading me through the couple blocks to the Airbnb, stopping every 25 feet for me to toss whatever I had left in my stomach, and leading me to bed, all with my girlfriend in tow hysterically upset. Welp, turns out I was dead wrong, that was reality! My girlfriend wakes up to inform me that, that was in fact what happened and starts sobbing and screaming, I go into a full-board panic attack, actually start crying because I am still wasted and actually do care what her parents think of me. Her mom comes into the room with a “my daughter deserves a doctor or lawyer instead of this sack of shit that probably needs his own attorney now” look on her face and leaves.

We ended up leaving the Airbnb about an hour later after we pack and what not, and her father gives me a hug and says “chin up, this is your one get out of jail free card, and by the way, I might need to cash in a similar favor someday.” I have another panic attack on the way to the hotel and pass out until we have to go to the rehearsal dinner. I only have one glass of red wine there that I could barely drink due to intense hand shakes akin to that of a heroin addict 48 hours into withdrawal. This was the worst two-day hangover I’ve ever had. You think now would be a good time to ask for her hand in marriage?

Once the martinis start flowing, you never know where the night is going to go. Just this past weekend I wanted a nightcap during my long weekend in San Francisco. I thought it best to go to a bar near our place and order a martini. And then another martini. And then a friend didn’t want to finish her martini so she offered it to me. Two and a half martinis later, I was nearly spinning on the rooftop of their apartment trying to look over the bay.

When with the parents, moderation is key. Sounds like this guy could make a good father-in-law one day, though. You know, not to put any pressure on you.

Hey Will,

I know this column is all about Sunday Scaries and this is a Saturday of a three day weekend no less, but my scaries are deep right now and I’m not sure I’ll ever stop being hungover. Here goes.

I’m currently two weeks in to a new job and I have a significant amount of work to catch up on, so I decided to just keep it low key and stay in town for MDW. The only drinking I planned to do was on Friday, where I had plans to stop by a friends graduation party and then meet up with a buddy who happened to be in town to watch the Cavs Celts game.

I start out at the party drinking rosé because it was an outdoor event and rosé is basically adult fruit juice. The bartenders at the event literally refused to let me have an empty glass, so I downed an indiscriminate amount of my adult fruit juice in the two hours I was there. At least a bottle and a half.

I leave the party with a solid rosé buzz on and meet up with my buddy to watch the game. We have a few beers, the game ends, and we switch to a local rooftop bar and start downing bourbon rocks. One bourbon in and I hit blackout town.

At some point, I leave my buddy to go to the head, somehow get lost on my way back, wander around service hallways for a while, and eventually end up back on the ground floor. Blackout me either forgets I’m with my buddy who doesn’t know this city at all or just didn’t care, so I just Irish goodbye him.

Worst part- instead of blackout calling an Uber like I’ve done hundreds of times, I decided that moment was a good time to sign up for the city’s bike share program. I literally downloaded an app, had to create a profile, put in my credit card info, and apparently decided I needed to by an ANNUAL PASS, which costs a solid hundred bucks.

Drunk ass me thankfully somehow made it the three miles back to my apartment on this bike and I undoubtedly committed a million traffic law violations along the way.

I think I need to stay off the rosé for a while. Don’t drink and bike, folks.

Don’t drink and bike. Just don’t. Obviously it’s not as bad as drinking and driving, but drinking and biking could get you a whole new slew of issues. Broken noses, concussions, tickets for not having a helmet, the works. Some places will even give you a DUI for recklessly riding a bike while hammered. That’s almost as stupid as getting on the sex offenders list for peeing in public.

What’s up, Will? Hope you’re having a great MDW full of drunken debauchery. I’ll just get right down to it and skip the bullshit.

While for me, this weekend has been very low key due to my second job as a bartender at a casino nearby. Worked Friday night and all Saturday. Crashed at my parents house Saturday night, and planned to spend all day Sunday with my family. First bite into breakfast, food goes down and comes right back up. This happens all day long now. Every attempt to eat or drink anything comes right back up immediately.

Currently writing this from a hospital bed hooked up to an IV of meds and fluids, with no clue why I can’t eat or drink anything. At least the nurse is cute.

I guess you know what they say.. the worst kind of scaries are the sober ones

Yep, that’s exactly what they say. You just got the hangover without the fun. Nothing worse than that.

Will,

I write to you in advance of my Sunday (Monday) Scaries. This Memorial Day weekend I am RSVP’d to two separate weddings. Which in and of itself sounds like a solid weekend. Free food, free alcohol, all of my best friends together, etc.. However, I sit here on Thursday fearing for my life.

The first wedding is on Saturday night. I’m in the wedding so we also have the rehearsal dinner on Friday. The dinner is within walking distance to my house with several bars/breweries on the way home. So this will inevitably lead to bad decisions as the groom has already stated he wants to go out after. On Saturday, the party bus will arrive at 11am to start the wedding party activities. This wedding will have ALL of my closest friends there and without a doubt will lead to a blackout.

This is when the fun starts. After the wedding I will be ubering to my parents (due to location near the airport) because I have a 6am flight to St. Louis (I live in Cincy) the following morning so that I can attend the second wedding of the weekend at 2pm. I then fly back to Cincinnati Monday morning at 11am. Two weddings with two open bars in two separate cities in two days. What could go wrong, right?

Why I decided to do this? I have no idea. A simple card and sorry I can’t make your out of town Memorial Day Weekend wedding seems like the move (The move that several friends made). I write this to you in advance because I will more than likely forget to while dying in the airport on Monday morning. 3 years ago I would have been excited for this weekend, but as I learned at each of the bachelor parties I attended for these weddings: your boy has lost a step. I’ll do my best to provide an update on Monday as to what horrendous things I did in my 3 day black out bender.

T’s & P’s are appreciated.

And then he followed the weekend had begun.

Will – I missed my flight.

I’m now in Minneapolis for the next 3 hours waiting for a new flight. Wedding is at 2, flight lands at 1.

I am not a smart man.

Oh no. Oh, wait, yes, another (final) follow-up.

Scaries have started. I have the shakes. I lost my keys. Left my charging block in Minneapolis. Dignity was lost on Friday. Can confirm that blacking out 3 days in a row is not ideal.

Oh I drunkly made plans last night and now have a date when I get back home.

It’s been a wild one. T’s & P’s appreciated.

This dude isn’t going to feel right until Thursday. Okay, let’s move on before I get overflow Scaries from this dude.

No “Sunday” scaries today because I had to work on Memorial Day

As someone who used to work every Memorial Day, not ideal. Just know that most people spent it hungover so you didn’t miss much.

Dear Will:

I’m sitting 30k up in the air in a middle seat—turbulent flight from New Orleans to Detroit.

My best friend and I decided to go to the George Strait concert in NOLA: bayou fest. As I type this, I’m trying to avoid getting shards of glass in my fingers from my newly shattered iPhone screen. Our weekend starts off on Saturday with me getting upgraded to first class and beginning the drinking journey there—meanwhile my friend is on a much later flight on Spirit so of course she is late. By then I’m 5 drinks in for the day and she’s starting off from ground zero so we get to work. We start off with a strawberita followed by complimentary drinks at the hotel bar with voodoo shooters. Then it’s time to make our way to Bourbon Street and we figure we would go to the Carousel Bar first to take good pics for the insta before we are completely shithoused. There we encounter this genie looking of a dude Marcus who claims he used to be the best CIA profiler in the country. He tells our “personalities” and proceeds to invite his boss something old man Dino over to buy us drinks. They are the most obnoxious ppl in the bar and props to the bar they kick them out but not before our drinks are added to the odd couple’s tab. To get over our encounter , we proceed to skip down bourbon street while my friend shows her tits for cheap ass beads.

Sunday we wake up , get to brunch just fine. At brunch I discover that I am abdominally hangover and proceed to have the shits that smell like a rough night on bourbon st. After surviving shitpocaplyse 2018, I am still able to eat and do some damage on bottomless mimosas. A couple of photos for my friend’s bumble later and we are back on Bourbon St by 2pm. We walk around with Darquirs, I buy a touristy T-shirt and then we both buy I heart Jesus bracelets and sex bracelets from a Voodoo shop. We proceed to the Cats Meow and show ourselves off as the wildest ones in the room by dancing on stage to every song. My friend stomps on my foot and I bleed into my shoe. We should have eaten dinner or some meal between now and the concert but who needs food when you have liquid calories and a couple of weed mints. Get to the concert and I’m bumped while holding my phone and it shatters the screen. That’s happened 100x before however my phone had enough and finally cracked. We proceed up to our expensive shit seats. Behind us is the most annoying concert goer and when I tell her to calm down because I’m trying to listen to George; she begins violently shrieking in my ear f*** you. She’s kicked out after this but my head is now pounding. At some point, I fell or something because I have so many bruises I can’t account for. My friend’s flight left early so she was up at 4am as was I to realize my stomach is royally fucked and because she has the light on. Not being able to go back to sleep, I beg delta to let me on the earlier flight so i don’t have to experience the shakes until 5pm in NOLA.

Update: home , having the shakes , feeling sore, fixed the screen , and I have been able to eat McDonald’s.

Nothing like a shattered phone and some bender bruises. That’s pretty much par for the course in New Orleans, I guess, but you already knew that.

I ate one bacon-wrapped jalepeno popper on Friday and my butthole has been on fire ever since. Not a single pleasant bathroom experience for 48 hours. Also I bought a car this weekend, which is tight. That also means I now have a 5 year car loan, which is not tight. I have to baby sit until midnight tonight, I’m dehydrated, and I have to move in to a new cubicle tomorrow morning. This week is gonna blowwww.

I… I don’t know. Please don’t send me stories that include the word “butthole,” guys.

What’s up, Will

It’s that amazing time of year again. Memorial Day weekend: A symbolic period of time reserved each year for giving respect to those who have passed serving our beautiful country and day-long alcoholic benders. It’s hard to determine when exactly this weekend started for me, as I tamed myself very well Thursday and Friday by attending happy hours in the River North area and calling it quits as soon as I got home.

Also, just to give a broader idea of this weekend, I live in the NW burbs of Chicago, but work downtown. Graduated from undergrad in December so I still feel like I can keep up with my college-drinking behaviors and moved back in with the ‘rents. Anyways, Saturday comes along. This is where shit progresses. A couple friends and I (1 couple included in this squad of 4) hop on the Metra to get to the city. This was an hour-long pregame of slamming light beers. Get off at the train station and Uber to North Avenue Beach. It wasn’t as crazy as we were expecting it there and this was definitely in our favor. As we soak up the sun and finish the rest of our beers, the other single friend (we’ll call her Becky) and I decide to rent a jet ski in our drunken state. Surprisingly, nothing bad happened during this drunken jet ski outing. We make our way back once our time is up, hit up the beach bar (Castaways) and it was reminiscent of a spring break destination on the roof of that place – people dancing in little to no clothing, drinking, and making mistakes. Also, apparently Ludacris was there? However, we confirmed that this was a look-a-like that the club thought was a good idea to place at the DJ booth.

After a couple hours at the beach, we head to a friend’s place in Wicker Park. We power nap and prepare for a night out. Also, none of us expected to actually go out – we hit Whiskey Business in the outfits we wore to the beach so we looked like fools. However, we made friends with a group that had bottle service so we were fools that didn’t pay for any drinks that night. Clutch.

Sunday comes along and I wake up in a hungover slump with aches and sores all over my body with little recollection how I made it 50 miles back to my house the previous night. A sober-ish friend met us at the bar(call her Alex- she’s important for later) and drove us. I power through the scaries and get my shit together. Becky lives on a lake house and she invited the whole squad. What ensues is drunken lake shenanigans that last for about 6 hours. Afterwards, the squad heads back to my house for a party that my family is hosting. Another 5 hours of drinking starts. We end the night with a bonfire and at a certain point, the night ends and Alex has found herself a spot to sleep for the night (in my bed ayyy).

We wake up on Monday, evaluate our lives, and make a quick escape out of my house (I always thought it’s awkward when my parents see who I sleep with and this was no exception). After I dropped her off, I slept for an additional 5 hours. Woke up at 4pm, BBQ’d with my family, had to explain who Alex was to my amazing mother, and didn’t drink a drop of alcohol.

Right now I’m back at the office and thankful this weekend is over. It was great, but my liver feels like it’s on the verge of failure. I’m hoping everyone else is on the same boat here. Maybe starting one of those new lame-ass keto diets will make me feel better

I didn’t include this to put drunk jet skiing on a pedestal, but to give a gentle reminder to be careful out there this summer season. Make sure someone’s in charge, have enough life jackets, and be as responsible as you know you should be.

As always, send your stories to will@grandex.co for all to see. And maybe hear in the very near future. Be safe and see everyone next week. .

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Will

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

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