I’m going to pat myself on the back. On Friday night, I had two Mexican Martinis. On Saturday night, I had two glasses of wine. And yesterday, I had two beers at dinner. I am the most responsible human being in the history of the world and no one can tell me otherwise.
Alright, let’s get into this weekend’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in quotes below.
It’s Friday and the scaries are already hitting me. I went to a friend’s birthday party last night in this hidden back room at this bar/cafe. I didn’t originally want to go but it was an open bar and this girl is a very broke undergrad who’s in the middle of a very miserable senior thesis. This basically means I need to black out every weekend to cope.
I drank a bit of cheap wine, by a bit I mean half a bottle, before going because I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to know anyone there. Tipsy me is better at small talk then sober me. But I arrive and am walked through the kitchen of this bar to get to the party and am luckily met with a few faces that I recognize. I start mingling and drinking vodka cranberries. And let me tell you the bartender was not fucking around with those drinks, it was like 75% vodka and a splash of cranberry.
At this point it was like 12:30 and I’ve had a half bottle of wine and four vodka crans so cue me drunkenly smoking outside in the rain with my friends. Oh and also these aren’t school friends, these are people that I used to work with at a job that I was recently fired from stemming from a different black out that I still can’t really talk about without dying so that story won’t be hitting your inbox anytime soon. The point is I probably shouldn’t have been as drunk as I was.
Nothing got too out of hand at this birthday party until it was wrapping up and the bartender offered to do tequila shots with me and the birthday girl. I being already inebriated obviously said yes. This is the point of the night that things start to get fuzzy. We leave the back room and are hanging out at the normal bar in this place. I hung around for a little bit (I have learned this from friends Instagram stories) and then proceed home. This is where things get very very dicey.
I checked my phone to see if I took an Uber and nope I didn’t. There’s no way I took the subway because I would still be lost if I did. I could have walked because I wasn’t that far from my apartment but again I have no idea. But I’m thinking I got in a cab because I’m missing $20 from my wallet but I’m notorious for losing cash when I’m drunk so who knows?
The only recollection I have of getting home is talking to a NYPD officer near my building and crying. Yeah not super great. All I can remember is telling him I have family members in the NYPD and his look of utter disappointent. Maybe he drove me home? I looked through all my stuff and I don’t have any tickets so lucky me if so. Officer, if you ever see this I’m really really sorry you had to deal with my drunk, emotionally unstable ass in the rain.
I texted everyone that I knew at the party this afternoon saying hey and that we should see each other soon and they all responded normally so I’m assuming no one witnessed me crying to a cop. And my I’ve been talking to my roommates and they’ve said nothing so I think I’m the only one who knows this happened which is the best case scenario for all of this.
Oh and I also might have landed a job at an amazing agency post graduation at the party? Drunk me is much better at networking then sober me.
I have 4 papers and 2 projects to do this weekend so there’s no way I’m going out. Buuuuuut I’ll send an update if I decide to be a degenerate instead!
P.S. As I was writing this a cop knocked on my door with a package for my roomate from another building and I very nearly threw up when I saw him because I thought he was here about last night. I’m still shaking and the scaries are now 20x worse
Trying to figure out how you got home the night before is kind of like a choose-your-own-adventure book, but just hoping you did it in the most responsible way possible. But that’s not what needs to get covered here. I don’t want to know how you got fired from your last job, I need to know how you got fired from your last job.
It’s 10am. Still in bed. Nothing bad really happened to me this weekend until now I just received a GroupMe message from a friend 2 hours ahead of me. Dude just railed a couple lines and is on his way to brunch. I have a date at 2pm for drinks and i don’t know if I can get out of bed because the second hand anxiety is making me wonder, “will this girl want to be on THAT level this afternoon?” Considering cancelling.
Okay, so I normally don’t pass judgement on people for what they put into their bodies because it’s your body and you can do whatever you want as long as you aren’t hurting anyone else. If you want to be a dumbass, be a dumbass. But uppers during Sunday brunch? Like, what are you getting out of that? Instead of just having indigestion from the sugar in the mimos, now you get to deal with the intense anxiety too? Clean it up. Clean it the hell up.
I typically use this page to live vicariously. As a grad student, my weekends are spent doing work while watching football (sometimes with a bottle of wine if I’m feeling risky) and going to bed at 11pm. However, this weekend was a break from the typical.
SantaCon came to Boston this weekend. I wasn’t planning to go, but my friends from NYC decided to visit last minute and it wasn’t very hard for them to talk me into going. I responsibly started my day by going to a spin class and sending a few work emails while cooling watching my UCF Knights play. But once halftime hit, I fell into panic. UCF was losing and I decided to accept the fact that Frost would be leaving us to go to Nebraska. Cue the champagne bottle pop.
Two bottles later, UCF wins, Frost announces he is leaving, I cry, fix my makeup, and then head out to meet my friends. I probably should have stopped to eat somewhere, but after a game like that, the only thing I was thinking about was celebratory shots and more champagne.
I meet my friends and we proceed to take several tequila shots, which I chase with a bottle of champagne the bartender decided I seemed reasonable enough to handle. I get hit on by several guys, which made me feel even better, and I’ve reached an all-time high. Quite literally, I think to myself “Why don’t I go out more often?”
Here comes the reality check.
There’s this one guy totally out of my league who keeps talking to me. Let’s call him Jack. Jack is funny, smart, cute and I’m thinking I’m going to let him break my 6-month dry spell. At the next bar, we make out after I let him buy me more tequila shots. On my way to the bathroom, his friend stops me and begins to yell at me. Apparently, Jack has a serious girlfriend in NYC, a girl he’s moving in with next month, and now I’m a homewrecker because he’s cheating on her with me. As someone who was once cheated on, I am immediately angry and decide that I should have an adult conversation with Jack about this. This conversation begins with me asking him about said girlfriend, and ends with me throwing my tequila soda on him. I was escorted out of the bar. Now (somewhat) sober, I stand by my handling of this.
One of my friends meets me outside and we go to another bar, deciding I need MORE alcohol to get over what occurred. The last thing I remember is throwing back one of three shots in front of me.
I wake up this morning at 7am in my bed wearing nothing but my boots. My Santa onesie outfit is next to me covered in vomit. My best friend who was staying with me is about to walk out the apartment and seems angry. She doesn’t even say bye. I have a text from my other friend that says “WHY ARE YOU ONLY WEARING A BRA?” in response to an apparent Snapchat I sent last night. I called my high school ex, who I haven’t seen in years, three times. I sent several texts to my college on-again, off-again boyfriend begging him to come visit me. He responded this morning with “LOL”.
Question, Will- Should I ask for full disclosure of the events that occurred during my blackout, or do I just accept the situation as it is?
Sunday Scaries are in FULL EFFECT as I attempt to do my homework and ignore more texts trickling in about last night, and I am happy to announce I am reverting my weekend schedules back to 11pm bedtimes.
This is what you get for going to SantaCon. This will probably get labeled a “lukewarm take” by people who pride themselves on voting for Trump and having HOT TAKES, but SantaCon is worse than pretty much any other sort of bar crawl you can do. Dressing up en masse solely to get drunk stops being fun the second you turn 21 and I’ll never fully grasp why people still insist on doing it. Without SantaCon, you would’ve been in bed at 11:30 and not Snapchatting people in your bra.
Some of my friends have a ski share up in Breckenridge for the ski season this year and this weekend was my first weekend taking advantage of it, but maybe it should also be my last.
None of us were planning on riding this weekend seeing as one friend was recovering from foot surgery, the other left her new bindings for her skis back in Denver, and my health insurance from my new job doesn’t take effect until January 1st; so naturally we decided to dedicate this weekend to getting drunk in the mountains. After tying on a solid buzz at the pregame (which with the altitude only took two vodka sodas and a shot) we went out to a bar in downtown Breck to meet up with a guy one of my friends was talking to. However as we were in the Uber to the bars she got a text from him saying he was bailing, so she announced to the group that we were all going to “fully send it” that night no matter what.
I decided to buy the first round of drinks for my friend that got stood up as well as my other friend who came out with us once we got to the bar. As I went to give the bartender my card, this guy out of nowhere comes up behind me and says, “I got those, darlin'”. Oh yes, it was a Bachelor party of about 8 dudes deep, from Lexington, KY. My first thought was that these guys were going to harass us the entire night (as this bar also had about a 9:1 guy-girl ratio) but as I turned to give the guy his credit card back (this bar should also be recognized as one of those perfect bars that gives you your card back when you open a tab) and say thanks he just said “you’re welcome” and took his card back and walked back to his group. So we had a free round of drinks AND didn’t have to make polite but awkward conversation with a bunch of randos until we could finish our drinks and leave, this night was looking up right? Wrong-o.
Once we moved away from the bar and towards the tables we saw two other guys who were staying in the ski share with us. Let’s call them “the German” and “the European Soccer player” because truth be told I don’t remember their names. Anyways we joined their table and ordered another round of drinks as well as a round of shots. As our server walks away with our order who should show up? The guy from the Kentucky Bachelor party who initiated buying our first round and two of his friends from the party with three more drinks for my friends and I. For those not keeping score we had our first free round about 3/4 of the way drank, another round of drinks plus shots on the way, and another round of drinks being placed right in front of us. Did I mention that those drinks were double Red Bull Vodkas?
For about 45 minutes or so everyone was just getting drunk and having a good time. German and European Soccer Player got along with the Kentucky crowd (the melting pot of accents must have been a thing of beauty to overhear I’m sure) and one of my friends was making out with one of the party goers who bore a strong resemblance to Nick Kroll. Even the guy who approached me as we first walked in and I were hitting it off. Things seemed to be moving in a good direction, until Nick Kroll and my friend tried to buy a round of shots for themselves. European Soccer Player approached them and was pissed that he wasn’t included in their shots of love and was throwing a tantrum over it. My friend either didn’t hear him whining or didn’t care because she just ignored him and continued trying to seal the deal with Nick Kroll. It was then that he went into overdrive with his whining and, among other things, called her a cunt. Until then I had my back to this situation, but when I heard him say that all rational thought had left my brain and drunk me took over. I turned around and started yelling what was I’m sure drunk white girl gibberish in order to make an attempt to stick up for my friend, but European Soccer Player was not having it and called me a dumb bitch to get me to go away. This led to me making a goddamn scene at the bar screaming at this dude a la “Sammi Sweetheart vs. Ronnie” from Jersey Shore style. When German made him apologize just to try to diffuse the bomb that is a drunk and pissed off girl, European Soccer Player looked over at me and says, “I don’t know why you’re mad at me, I’m rich” and walked off.
I’m with you Micah, fuck Soccer and those who play it.
The rest of the night is pretty uneventful. Miraculously we were not kicked out of the bar and the Kentucky guy who bought the round of drinks and Nick Kroll come back with us to the ski share. While Nick Kroll and the friend of mine he hit it off with hook up in a hallway, other Kentucky guy finally proved a theory I’ve heard once that if a guy calls you darlin’, that is an automatic red flag and you should get out immediately. He repeatedly bitched and moaned that my friend and I wanted to sleep (it was 4am at this point) and not have any added guests in our bed. When we kindly asked him to get the fuck out, he obliged, but not without complaining about it the entire next morning after we offered to take him and Kroll back to their condo. And then went at it AGAIN later that evening when he sent me multiple passive aggressive text messages and voicemails.
Lessons learned this weekend: I’m too old for Red Bull Vodkas, European soccer players are trash, and if a guy calls you darlin’ you need to tell him to saddle up his horse and ride the other way.
1. Yeah, you are too old for Red Bull Vodkas.
2. No one feels bad for you when you spent the weekend in Breck. Like, no one.
3. Your hatred for soccer is unjust considering I’m pretttttttay prettay sure there are numerous other-sports-playing meatheads out there who are just as big of dicks as European Soccer Player.
4. Calling anyone “darlin'” or “sweetheart” in the post-Weinstein era is probably not a good idea for anyone.
I started out at a very low-key Christmas party for an organization I’m a part of. It was outside of town. so I drove thus didn’t have much to drink. I agreed to meet several of my friends there for a few drinks downtown. I get a text from my little after she saw my snapchat story, and she begs me to meet up with her and some of our sorority sisters on Dirty 6th as they were all down their after formal. So I decided I’ll go for “old time’s sake” because who doesn’t want to return to the strip of bars with sticky floors and shitty well drinks?
I met up with her, her date, and his friend. I immediately realize she’s very drunk, and she starts telling me, in front of her date and his friend, that he really wants to sleep with her so we need to get all the free drinks out of him we can. Next, she starts telling me his friend just got dumped so I “need” to make out with him. Wasn’t there yet but I keep taking the free drinks and find myself with a healthy buzz. 2am rolls around and the guys insist we go to one of the gay clubs that’s open until 3:30. I thought it was odd that two straight guys insisted we all go to a gay club, but I love a good dance spot and this particular club plays the best music so I didn’t question it.
We get there and the guys take us to a secret upstairs bathroom and slip this random mobster looking dude standing outside the door a wad of cash. We all squeeze into this single stall bathroom, and the guys start prepping lines of blow. I’m not saying I don’t do drugs and cocaine is fun but I’m old. However I wasn’t gonna be a downer (see what I did there?) so I went for it. Next thing I know, I’m tweaking hard af on the dance floor surrounded by half naked dudes. We go back to one of the guy’s apartments and drink I don’t even know how much vodka until I finally make it home around 6 but couldn’t fall asleep.
I had an office Christmas brunch at 11 the next morning at a restaurant an hour away (who does office parties at brunch… shitty people that’s who.) The drugs start to wear off just has the venue starts blaring Christmas and my hangover sets in. I was offered a mimosa and immediately started gagging at the slightest whiff of alcohol. I had to go to the bathroom and puke 3x. When I came back the third time, my coworker whispers into my ear, “morning sickness is the worst part of pregnancy. Don’t worry it should only last the first trimester.” My brain was too fried to even correct her, so now the entire office probably thinks I’m pregnant bc Cathy.
The scaries are real af knowing I have to go to work in the morning and dispel this rumor.
If I had a nickel for every story I told that included, “Next thing I know, I’m tweaking hard af on the dance floor surrounded by half naked dudes,” I’d be a rich man. But all joking aside, the worst part of this story is your work having a “Christmas brunch.” You need to separate yourself from that organization and everyone else involved in it. Those are not people you should even be LinkedIn contacts with. Delete them from your life.
Decided to go to Athens on a whim to watch the Dawgs play (side note: HOW BOUT DEM DAWGS BABAY!!!!) and so my friend and I woke up at 8 AM on Saturday to drive the 6 hours it takes to get there. We of course didn’t think that everyone and their mother who goes to UGa went to Atlanta to watch the game instead, but every bar was offering crazy drink specials to get people out and there were still a decent number of people in town. We go to the second bar where my cousin’s fraternity brother is bartending and he feeds us free drinks for a couple hours. At this point I’ve already yakked and am basically blackout. Kept pounding drinks and (apparently) threw up again shortly after the Dawgs win, which I only vaguely remember. We bar hop around and I’m buying drinks left and right for people because I’m drunk off my ass, but the town got pretty dead in that weird gap between the game and people going out at night and my friend (rightly) thought it was about time I went home, so we order an Uber back to where we were crashing. At this point I can barely stand, and when our Uber arrives I hold up a finger and proceed to projectile vomit all over the bushes as our driver watches. I don’t remember anything else, but woke up this morning with no cash despite starting the night with around $250 in my wallet, and had to drive the 6 hours back home with the world’s worst hangover. Go Dawgs though.
I’m honestly surprised the Uber even took you home. I got in the front seat of an Uber the other night (pyscho move, I know) and openly admitted to my driver, “I’m a little drunk so I apologize in advance.” A nice gesture, so I thought. He immediately slowed down the car to a near stop and said to me, “Are you going to throw up?” with an unparalleled seriousness in his eyes. I assured him I was good and spent the rest of the ride hoping I wouldn’t throw up which was a weird move because I’m not a big drunk puker.
I don’t know why this story just became about me but here we are.
Had some time off so I headed home for a long weekend to hang with the hometown crew. Things started out late Saturday afternoon at a local tap house where we chilled and had several brews. I’ve slacked off from drinking over the last several months but as we headed to the next spot, I convinced myself that I can still hang like I did when I was 21. The next spot we hit still had a few pumpkin beers left for some reason and being a big pumpkin beer type of person, I knocked back whatever they had left before moving on to Tito’s & soda and proceeded to lose count of how many of those I housed. I woke up this morning with blurred vision, a jackhammer going full blast in my head and an uneasy feeling in my guts. I attempted to power through it, had breakfast with the fam and decided to lay back down for a while in an attempt to ease my hangover. As I was about to climb back in to bed, I got that uneasy feeling again. I felt a churning sensation from deep within and realized that I just needed to fart. As I let it out, I instantly realized my mistake but it was too late to do anything about it. The scent of rancid vodka filled the room as well as my shorts and I regretted my very existence though oddly enough, my body began to feel much better almost instantly. Somehow was able to do a very small load of laundry and grab some carpet cleaner without raising any eyebrows or uncomfortable questions from the fam so I count that as a small win within a massive loss.
Wait. Did you… did you shart yourself?
I spent my weekend vacationing in my hometown. It is now 1:00 AM Monday morning and my flight back to the grind is in 5 hours. Why am I emailing you instead of sleeping?
Because earlier this evening I was offered $20 by a friend to eat a Carolina Reaper – the hottest pepper on the planet. I obliged. The initial burn was bearable, but I wasnt prepared for the unspeakable horror it would unleash in my stomache. It feels like an eternal kick to the balls. I’ve puked what I could but am finding no relief. So, I’m writing you in an attempt to distract myself from the painful inferno raging in my belly… and the scaries lurking in the working hours ahead.
There’s a popular taco place in Austin –– Taco Deli –– and they have a salsa called “Doña.” For a non-Texan, I consider it to be quite hot. And unfortunately, I also consider it to be delicious. A couple breakfast tacos topped with it puts me in “Is my stomach about to explode out of my body?” mode, so I can’t even imagine a Carolina Reaper.
I got the flu this weekend, which inherently sucks. It sucks even more because I happened to have a date (a first date no less) to a function this weekend. However, the real kicker is that the plague decided to really manifest itself on said first date… as we were waiting for an Uber… outside my apartment building. So I threw up in a public trash can in front of my date (sexy, right?) and then bravely (read: stupidly) tried to proceed as normal throughout the rest of the evening, which was a poor decision on my part. As the wise Kenny Rogers once sang, “You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, and know when to run.” Being me, I opted for none of the above. Unfortunately, I spent the majority of the rest of the evening alternately sneaking away from my date to throw up and then pretending like everything was fine when we both knew better. I’m relatively certain that will be our last date and the last time I ever try to puke and rally.
Thanks for listening. It was a hell of a weekend (in the worst way possible) and I’m still sick and the work week is approaching. Cue the Jaws theme song.
Hope your weekend was better than mine!
I once went on a first date with a girl who got her heel stuck in a grate, fell face first into the sidewalk, and had a bloodied mouth and nose. So throwing up seems rather tame and not embarrassing considering you powered through. Props to you. I know Jordan was hungover and didn’t have the flu, but this was truly your “Flu Game.”
Can’t wait to see everyone next Monday. .