Unreturned DMs, Tuxedo Pukes, and Drunken Marathons: The Worst Stories From This Weekend
Well, we’re back. And I have to say, it feels great.
As you know, I’m old. Some would say that I’m “washed” which is why I have to live vicariously through you young bucks who love a good time. Those of you who throw your Chase Sapphires down for a round of Fireball even though you only have about $96 in your bank account. Those of you who wake up next to people whose name you’ll never find out. Those of you who return to their alma maters despite my pleas for you to never do so.
If you’re unfamiliar with this column, it’s fairly simple — readers get drunk, make terrible decisions, and anonymously relay the story to me so I can relay it to the masses. Because after all, it’s more fun to commiserate with each other than it is to do so alone at your desk come Monday morning.
If you have a story of your own, there are two ways to submit it; by either emailing them to me at will@sunday-scaries.com or by submitting them here.
While you’re reading these, don’t forget to follow and listen to The Sunday Scaries Podcast. If you press play now, it’ll be done by the time you’re done reading this column—I promise. And yeah, it’s also available on Apple Podcasts too.
All responses are unedited and in blockquotes below, so don’t blame me for poor grammar or run-on sentences. Apologies for the length of the following responses—I think a lot of people were horned up for the return of Worst Weekends. Now—and I’ve waited a long time to say this—let’s have some fun.
Went out to a bar last weekend and starting hitting on this girl in my friend group. My drunk self ended up sending her a ridiculous instagram DM at 2am. Woke up to a read receipt with no reply. I wouldn't even let myself read what I wrote before I deleted the message. Scaries were high because I will inevitably see this girl again this weekend.
I’m not saying we have to know what your DM said, but we have to know what your DM said. At the end of the day, though, this is par for the course when you’re single and in your 20s. While I wouldn’t condone your actions, everyone’s lying to themselves if they’re saying they’ve never sent a risky (yet unrequited) DM after too many sodas.
So this all took place over labor day weekend.
I decided to head back to my alma mater for the home opener this past labor day. I still have a few friends in school since I took a victory lap and they are as well so I hit up two of my boys both 22 who just finished a summer intern season in AZ one is a construction management guy the other is a golf pro so needless to say they spent the summer raging. And even at 24 living in a major east coast city with a great pool scene I’ve definitely slowed down.
I left Thursday with a direct flight back to big ten country, the airport BWWs was the first stop for beer and wings to get prepped for what was a head of me, got a free drink on the flight and touched down before 10. Rolled up to the house I was staying at which was one of the our old off campus party houses that I definitely hadn’t seen in the light of day. I walk in immediately put my bags down and get handed vodka and some smelling salts and its off to the races. Before leaving for the bars at 11 me and a buddy do some Columbian nose kill then its off to the bar for $1 drinks $2 doubles. Needless to say I bought a lot of people drinks and had shots bought for me as well. We get back at 2 and me and two of the roommates more the speakers out to the garage and grab more booze. At about 3:30 in the morning their late 40s neighbor comes through wanting to drink with us and she proceeds to grind up on me super super uncomfortable because there’s a solid chance she may be on crack. We head back into the house losing their neighbor at 6 and I catch an hour of sleep.
At 8 I head to campus to go shoot the shit with my old professors as well as get some letters of recommendation for grad school. After that we hung out till 3 then I got them a keg and we grab lunch and the drinking began again. That evening the ski and snowboard club through a BBQ at the house and they also brought a keg so we put away our keg brought out couches and the TV and proceed to watch football gathered around the keg from about 5-10 after keg is tapped and ski club leaves its more nose kill, I get handed a 60 mg of Adderall which I pocket for later then off to the bars. I hit the Adderall at 1 am and when we get back from the bars we tap the second keg at 2:30, at this point it’s me the same two roommates from before and another 24 year old dude we knew from the bars. The game was at 11 and I was told to wake the house up at 5 so at 4 its more nose kill and then a quick shower and waking the house up to motely crew and a keg that’s been flowing since bar close.
People slowly trickle in around 8 to tailgate and then my best friend and his GF roll into town since they live an hour away. We head to the stadium I’m the only one without tickets so I link up with a few other 24 year old’s intown at the open bar spot to watch the game. From their the drinks were flowing till about 3 in the afternoon the game crew joined us at halftime and my best friend his GF and I grab food and then claws and head back to the house to keep drinking. My best friend had also brought nose kill so we do more before heading back to the bars at 9 to link up with another friend and his parents. We then do the bars until two again and then head back and pass out. Me and two roommates who I had been raging with and who also hadn’t gotten any sleep proceeded to sleep all Sunday leaving twice to get food. And the I had to get up at 4 get my buddy up at 4 because there were no ubers to get my flight back home at 6 am. Monday was spent on my couch dying inside and that Tuesday AM workout was burtal as well as sitting in the office, especially because my boss was out drinking with his friends all week.
100% worth it but I defs need to get sleep when raging.
Okay, here’s everywhere you went wrong:
You went back to your alma mater. Say it with me now: “Never go back to your alma mater.” You’re too old and you’re going to think you’re strong enough to re-live your glory days.
You started your weekend at Buffalo Wild Wings. While I love Asian Zing Sauce as much as the next guy, I only eat B-Dubs if I know I can follow it up with about a hundred healthy meals.
Nose beers. [Insert Michael Jordan “Stop It, Get Some Help” GIF] Even doing a little is a terrible idea so, based off your story, you DID WAY TOO MUCH.
Stop grinding with 40-year-old neighbors. I don’t think I need to further explain myself.
Why are you just shooting the shit with your professors during a weekend like this? Especially after a night like that. You probably smelled like vodka and shame.
You say it was “100% worth it,” but I have to ask… was it 100% worth it?
I had a 10 year high school reunion last week. I went to an all male private high school so to say this reunion had a bit of a fraternity vibe is not a stretch. When I graduated high school I went right into a military academy. From there I went right to bouncing around the world for work. Needless to say, I haven't seen a lot of these guys in years. You know what fixes that though? An open bar. This event was held upstairs at a bar in the downtown that has a decent selection of booze. It didn't take long for us to figure out that every shelf was included.
When I left the house my girlfriend told me she would pick me up if I was too drunk to drive home, a promise she would later regret. I had warmed up beforehand with a couple of Miller Lattes and was expecting a casual evening of beer and socializing with old friends. By 9 guys were ordering rounds of free patron shots like they were millionaires. I had switched to vodka sodas in order to avoid a next day beer bloat at an NFL home opener. That vodka doesn't save you when one guy hands you tequila, another Jameo, and a third Jack. Needless to say all three kicked my ass that night.Some of my married friends went home to wives as it got rowdier. I believe I made an Irish exit just after midnight. I had lived in this neighborhood before and knew my way around and I called my girlfriend to insist she pick me up at my old house. I then proceeded to run there in an open Hawaiian and boat shoes. She picked me up with a look of disgust on her face. We only made it three blocks before I insisted we pull over. With both hands gripping a chain link fence I puked my guts out.
When I finished I told her I needed to "run it out." I then ran it out, with her following me in the car. She told me I sang the whole time. Which I believe, because I tend to run in double time, just like they taught me in the military, when I'm drunk. I was puking all the way. At some time around 1 I started running in circles at a dead end. So my girlfriend pulled over to try and get me back in the car. She tells me a guy came out of his house and tried to talk to me about being in the army before telling her he owned these 7 row houses and they were being knocked down for a development and he was sad because he had lost his virginity in one. That was the sketchy push my girlfriend needed to force me to get into the car.
We were heading into a tunnel at this point so she made me promise not to throw up in her new car. I made her promise to slow down because I felt like the car was spinning like I was on the graviton. We got home but I sang the whole way until I blacked out. This was sometime after we got out of the tunnel and it was probably because she wouldn't let me out of the car to run again. When she helped me out of the car I puked and then puked again in the toilet before passing out.
She got her revenge by waking me up at 9 to go to a tailgate. I was still drunk and had sprained the arch in my foot running. I had lost my hat and sunglasses but had my watch that told me I had run 5.3 miles last night. So I stood in the blazing sun for hours chugging water and being miserable. I left once the game started and picked up my truck via scooter still hungover. Took a 4 hour nap and didn't drink for 3 days after.
The fact that you “didn’t drink for three days after” is hilarious to me because (not to shame you) I probably would’ve taken the whole entire next week off. That being said, I think there’s something phenomenal about getting some miles in when you’re buzzed. I remember back in the day—you know, before Uber—when walking home was the only option if I didn’t have a designated driver. At some point I realized that I could simply sprint home. What’s the worst that could happen, I wake up a tad more tired than I would’ve otherwise?
Well, turns out “the worst that can happen” is actually “throwing up while you drunk while blacked out.” You live and you learn.
About a month ago, one of my best friends got married back near our hometown in bumfuck nowhere. I was excited for this weekend because I was a part of the wedding as were some other friends from high school that I had not seen for a long time. However, I was also nervous because the bride went a little overboard and made everyone do a choreographed dance upon the bride and groom's grand entrance into the reception, as well as a long couple dance by the bridal party upon our entrance into the reception. This part will come back into the story shortly.
The rehearsal was Friday evening at the venue, about two hours from where I currently live. I got out of work early and packed up my things for the weekend. I went over to my girlfriend's house and picked her up, and away we went. Things were going great until about an hour into the trip when it hit me - I left my tux back at my apartment. Knowing I was fucked, I hit a u-turn the first chance I got and headed back. Of course we hit rush hour traffic heading in so I called my buddy and let him know I was going to be running late. Thankfully we'd given ourselves some leeway and we were only about a half hour late, but my girlfriend was going to have to wait during the rehearsal.
Once we got to the rehearsal, things went pretty quickly, until we had to work on our damn choreographed dance. An hour and a half later, we finished up, and I went out to my car to meet my girlfriend who was both hangry and bored. That could be a Worst Weekend in itself, but wedding day is where shit gets really out of hand.
I wake up on wedding day and get dressed in some athleisure to hang out in until we have to start getting dressed. I pick up one of the other groomsmen, and we all meet at an Amish brunch buffet close to the venue. We're the last ones there, so I grab a seat at the end of the table. I sit down and immediately feel something wet. I sat down in a puddle of fucking maple syrup. I stand up immediately and everyone starts laughing at my expense. I head into the bathroom, where I get some wet paper towels and proceed to get butt ass naked in the stall. I wipe all the syrup off both my shorts and the boxers that it went through, and get on with my day with a giant wet spot on my ass.
We finish up brunch and have a few hours to kill still before we can head to the venue, so we find the only other place to hang out within a few miles of the venue - some random Mexican restaurant with a couple stars on yelp. We go to the restaurant when my dumbass decides I need to start drinking because I'm a terrible dancer and need to get a little liquid confidence before showtime. I order the biggest margarita on the menu and then watch the guy behind the bar pour it out of a giant bottle of mix. I try to drink it anyway, but the sugar combined with the giant brunch I just ate makes me want to keel over on the floor. This feeling doesn't go away until a little before the wedding, when I am stone-cold sober.
The wedding goes smoothly and quickly, and then we have time to kill before our entrance into the reception, so I head to the bar and get a beer. One other groomsmen is already at the bar so I suggest we get some Vegas bombs as well. As we are ordering, everyone else starts to come to the bar, and I suggest they all get some, too. Anyway, I ended up paying for about eight Vegas bombs when no one else offered to pay, but whatever. I go about my evening and keep drinking.
We get the dance part over with and I feel a giant weight off my shoulders. At the wedding, there is a keg of Bud Light, and the bartenders keep them coming all night long. As I'm getting more and more wasted, I take pride in showing anyone who will watch exactly how fast I can chug a Bud Light. I have no idea how many Bud Lights I drank that night, but I remember my girlfriend betting my mom $10 I was gonna throw up, and me laughing in her face and telling people about it and how wrong she was cause I felt great.
The reception ends and everyone packs up their things. I'm taking my buddy and his dad's tux rentals back the next day, so I get those from them while refusing to change back into my syrup shorts from earlier in the day. I'm feeling good and my mom (the DD), my girlfriend, and I head home, about a 25 minute drive. I'm sitting in the passenger seat of my own car that my mom is driving home and I pass out. My girlfriend is in the seat behind me. At some point I wake up and see where we are on our way home. Without any warning whatsoever, I begin projectile vomiting all over myself. My mom stops the car and rolls the window down, but it's too late, I can't even sit up enough to lean out the window. It's fucking everywhere, including all over my tux, my whole front passenger side, and my girlfriend in the backseat somehow. To my disbelief, my mom took it in stride and was laughing her ass off at me (because it wasn't her car most likely) and my girlfriend wasn't even that mad. I sit with my head against the window in shame the rest of the way, debating the merits of opening the door and rolling out on the highway.
We finally get home and my dad opens up the door to me in my underwear, covered in vomit and shame. I grab a shop vac and a sponge and get to work trying to clean up my car. It takes a ton of work the next day and a couple of weeks for the smell to finally come out, and I never received a charge from men's wearhouse for damage to the tux, so things turned out okay. Most fortunately of all I made it halfway home and didn't ruin one of my best friend's wedding days, but the shame of that moment will haunt me for the rest of my life.
If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that it’s nearly impossible to not black out in a tuxedo. You feel invincible from the beginning and you’re likely surrounded by open bars with copious amounts of high-end alcohol. I actually give you a pass there. Where I can’t give you a pass is the Bud Light chugging move. First and foremost, Bud Light is a bottom-tier light beer (but that’s neither here nor there). Second of all, I too have been the guy showing people how fast they can chug beers (albeit I do it with Guiness). It always ends one of two ways—throwing up or passing out with a belly full of beer that leads to a Stage-1 Hangover. Godspeed.
To preface, I'm a recent grad who was in a fraternity throughout my four years and as you know, the FOMO can get pretty bad once your younger friends start to move back in. Because of this, my friend was able to wrangle about 3/4 of my pledge class for a mini reunion at his summer house in Newport, RI.
Because I'm an Upstate NY boy, I made the grueling 5 hour drive after ripping a half day at work on a beautiful Friday afternoon. To my surprise, I was only the third guy there since the rest of them were coming in by train from NYC. Our gracious host also had to pick them up from the station so that left two of us to start drinking. By the time they arrived at around 10PM the two of us were already blasted after ripping shots of vodka that was weirdly flavored like Minute Maid Lemonade. When the crew arrived they were eager to go to bars so we sent it downtown.
Unfortunately, three of us were separated from the group and left to our own devices, one of them being me. I was apparently dragged up onto a local families front porch that I walked by multiple times where they quarantined me for about an hour. They held me there until they thought I was capable of making it home (which ended up being one block away). Those are my last memories of the night. When I woke up I was told that they found me pounding on the locked back door in between pukes on the patio with my pants off.
The next day I toned it down, limited myself to only a few claws on the pontoon boat we rented to take the edge off. That evening, we were dead set on going to some overly boujee bar with absurd crowds that was apparently wicked fun. After waiting in line for 30 minutes to pay a $40 cover we finally reached the bouncer, who stared down one of my other friends who got lost the night before. He pointed an angry finger and told us that he had to get the fuck out of there before he called the cops AGAIN. Apparently, he showed up at this bar alone and picked a fight with six guys and caused such a ruckus outside that he needed to be escorted away.
Luckily the rest of the night went smoothly at another bar where he apologized with buying a round or two. The next morning I woke up in pain, had to clean up all the puke I left on the back patio, and realized I had the worst sunburn I've ever gotten. It left me peeling from various places for the next 2 weeks. Just imagine how that five hour drive home, alone, was.
Sunscreen and moisturizer could’ve cured that sunburn but when you’re a 23-year-old letting it rip, it’s pretty difficult to remember those to things.
And I know there’s been a lot of puking this week, but I nearly puked when I read that you stood in a 30-minute line to pay a $40 cover. If I wait that long in line, they better be giving me $40 worth of free drinks the second I walk in. Shame on whoever thought that was a good idea.
This happened about a year and a half ago and the shame is finally starting to wear off.
I went to Cabo for a buddies bachelor party. We were staying at an all inclusive resort and it started just after dinner. There was a pool party at the resort with a DJ that we decided to hit up. We get there early to really get the party started. We go hard all night and I end up blacking out and leaving my shoes and shirt at the pool but somehow make it back to my room (important for later).
In my blackout state I decide it best to pass out in the bathroom, on the toilet specifically, with all my clothes on. The next couple of hours I have no idea what happened but I woke up having taken a shit on the floor and threw up on the floor. I do my best to clean everything up and head out to try to get my sandals back. The front desk doesn’t have them so I say fuck it and go get breakfast and mimosas to shake off the terror of what I woke up to.
Over the next couple of hours it was back to mostly normal, hanging at the pool and pounding drinks, until we decided to go swimming in the ocean. The beach was probably like 50 yards with no shade so we decided to just walk down there and check it out. Well since I didn’t have my sandals I ended up burning my feet and needing to have to sprint into the ocean to cool them off. As soon as I got hit by the first wave my watch ends up falling off and it is taken by the sea. I relax in the ocean for a bit before I decide I need another drink.
I sprint back to the pool and all is good for the night until we decide to go to squid roe. My feet are still hurting really bad and I see I have the blisters covering the entire bottom of my feet from burning on the sand.
The flight home for work the next day was three worst Sunday scaries of my life.
When I was in 8th grade, I burned the tops of my feet at a resort in Mexico. I had to be the token kid walking around the pool with socks on (yes, I swam in socks). Another fun fact is that I had my first ever drink that night too—a "Sex On The Beach.” You know, not to brag or anything.
One of my very close friends is now essentially banned from my house.
My wife and I just recently bought a new house right outside of our college town, as we both landed jobs here after graduation a couple years ago. This past weekend was the first football game at our alma mater and one of my fraternity brothers from out of town (about 5 hours away) asked to stay with us for the weekend. With our "guest suite" finally full of college apartment furniture we gave him the go ahead to move in for the weekend.
Friday afternoon I shoot him a text asking if we should expect him for dinner, in which he responds "No, I'm carpooling. We'll be there around 9:30”
Not fully understanding what he was talking about, I just figured he'd get to our house late that night. Fast forward to 9:00 Friday night and I get a text of "the GPS says we're going to get in town around 11:30, can you come pick me up from my carpool's hotel?”.
After doing some mapping I realized this hotel is 35 minutes from my house, there was now way I was driving over an hour round trip to get him. I did some negotiating with him and later decided to meet at the football stadium parking lot, which was halfway between my house and the hotel. Absolutely fuming that I was having to pick him up, I leave my house at 11:15 and head towards campus.
Leaving my neighborhood I get a call that he was already on campus and headed towards our old fraternity house, and just to pick him up from there... With no other choice I said “okay”.
Pulling up to the house, I call him and get no response. After trying 2 more times, he answers and proceeds to convince me to come meet some guys in the house. Rolling up like "that alumni" I get inside and find him doing the whole "back in our day" talk. 20 minutes later I cut him off and get him out of the house. We drive home, and go to bed for the night.
The next morning, we wake up and throw sports center on the TV while my wife gets some overdue work done. She insures me that she is going to make breakfast when she's done. About 20 minutes into coffee and college gameday watching, my friend hits me with "you gonna get some breakfast started". Ensuring him my wife was going to make it soon he chills out.
Not even 10 minutes later he gives me a "man you gotta make breakfast, I've gotta eat". Completely off put by his statement, I get in the kitchen and start cooking. After breakfast we split to get ready and I get sent off with a grocery list for tailgating. On a mission for snacks and beer, we head to the store.
On the way there he calls his friends and tells them to meet him at the grocery store, and tells me he's meeting some buddies for lunch. Not thinking anything of it we get to the store and grab what we need. After hitting the beer isle he, his friends meet up with him and he puts his beer in the cart and says "can you get this man, I'm going to get lunch with these guys and head to the game. I'll get it from you at the tailgate and venmo you back”
I call him out for that being a trash move, and he storms off with his case.
I get home and start packing our car for the tailgate, a get hit with a text from him saying “Hey man can you pack up my stuff and bring it to the game with you? I’m gonna find somewhere else to stay tonight”.
Gladly I go upstairs and find the place in complete shambles. There is what looks like a weeks worth of clothes scattered across the floor, pillow everywhere, and a couple wet towels suspiciously by the bed. I head into the bathroom to find that he left the curtain outside of the tub leaving a mild flooding situation. I was in disbelief.
Throwing his stuff in his bag we head to the game.
Moseying his way over after knocking back a couple of his warm rolling rock’s he asks my wife when she's “bringing the food out”.
Let’s just say that didn’t end well for him.
I was then hit with a “never got the chance to say thanks for letting me crash” text about 5:00pm Sunday afternoon.
And this, ladies and gentleman, is why I decided to get a one-bedroom apartment rather than a two-bedroom apartment. Well, that and the fact that it was like $600 more a night.
Let’s take a quick moment to recognize some cardinal rules while staying over at someone’s house for a weekend: keep the room spotless the entire time you’re there, get up before the hosts get up, offer to chip in for groceries/booze/etc (in addition to bringing them a gift), and always shower with the goddamn plastic curtain inside the shower. It’s not that hard, people.
So last wknd my best friend since college hosted his wedding in Asheville, NC. Beautiful town if you’ve never been there especially when the leaves start to change colors. My worst weekend began at the open bar the night of the rehearsal dinner, and when I say open bar I mean there is no drink the bartenders couldn’t make.
I’m in the wedding party but not the best man, so I feel I can let my hair down a little and have a good time. So I jump right in at the rehearsal dinner drinking Johnnie Walker doubles. Several hours go by when the darkness creeps in. Here’s where my date and I started taking L’s:I was told I spend at least an hour hitting it off and chatting it up with uncle Jerry. This was discovered the next day at the wedding when I introduced myself to Uncle Jerry.
Spent the next hour only speaking in a Kermit the frog voice, why? I have no idea.
Me and the gf get into an argument outside the venue and as I walk away and she trips on her dress and nose dives into the cobblestone street, getting a solid raspberry on her chin and shoulder just hours before the wedding.
Fast forward to Saturday: Girlfriend is running late to the wedding, as she gets out of the Uber he hears 1 of the 2 open doors close and takes off; running over her foot breaking her high heel.
As I walk up to the bar the female bartender asks how I am feeling and if I remember “the kiss.” A panic sets in as I don’t remember ANYTHING and she goes on to explain I gave a big congratulatory kiss to the best man & brother of the groom on the lips grasping his cheeks after finding out he is engaged - not a good look.
Needless to say, we’re taking it easy this weekend.
As someone who has literally gotten their foot run over by a car, congratulations to your girlfriend for only sustaining minor injuries to her stilettos. Glad Uncle Jerry was there to help.
Was visiting my brother in Seattle for Halloween. He was in the army and stationed on base near Tacoma 1 hour south of Seattle, crashing on his futon in the barracks. Took a bus from the base to Seattle for a bar crawl around 1130-12pm. After drinking for about 12 hours we’re so hammered I just order an Uber back to the base. Winds up being about a $100 ride that I passed out in, vomited in, (another $200) and left my phone in. Realized as we got into the barracks. Use my brothers phone to call mine and yell “you gotta turn around and drop my phone back at the gate to the base” the driver, thankfully, does. Then take my brothers keys and drive around for about an hour, drunk, on an army base in the middle of the night. Can’t find the gate and get lost, eventually get back to the barracks and decide to give up and deal with it in the morning before I have to fly out that afternoon. Wake up with the worst hangover and full of shame. Walk over to the gate which I couldn’t find the previous night, and have to approach the armed guards and ask them if they had my phone. Thankfully they did, and gave me the most “you better get the fuck out of here” looks I’ve ever gotten. Brother drops me off the at the airport to fly from Seattle to Charlotte where I had a layover before flying to Cincinnati. Once at Charlotte I proceeded to get Bojangles from terminal B and eat 2 spicy chicken biscuits and fries in about 15 seconds before spending the rest of the day feeling like shit and with the worst scariest ever. Worst Sunday I’ve ever had.
This definitely wasn’t a major detail of the story but why don’t we talk about this Bojangles move for a second, shall we? I HATE eating warm food before a flight and I honestly don’t know why. A wrap or a caesar salad? Sign me up. Fried chicken? Tacos? Pasta from Macaroni Grille? No, thank you. For some reason, it just makes the flight feel so much worse when you’re hungover.
Either way, tell your brother “thank you for your service” for me.
I know these were long-winded responses, but isn’t it nice to be back? Can’t wait to do it all again next weekend, everyone.
As always, The Sunday Scaries Podcast is available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and anywhere else podcasts are found.
